


Little Redhead

by Foxesandmagic



Series: Peaky Blinders Fanfiction - Piccola Rossa [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, Peaky Blinders Fanfiction, Peaky Blinders OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxesandmagic/pseuds/Foxesandmagic
Summary: Two years since Lucinda Turner run away from London, since she decided that she’d never return there, and the city seems to be doing all it can to bring her back. That, and a certain Thomas Shelby who has uncovered links between the curious redhead and the city that might just hold the key to expanding his business. Will Luce’s fears of London or Tommy win out, or will her own determination prove the stronger force?
Series: Peaky Blinders Fanfiction - Piccola Rossa [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1465801
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter One: Faces From the Past

A letter. That was the thing that kept circling Wilfred Turner’s head. His sister had been missing for little over ten months and all she had done was sent them one measly letter from Cheltenham. If she was ever there he’d found no trace of her; by the time he’d arrived she was gone. No one had even seen her, as far as he could tell. But still he’d searched, still he’d offered out the pictures that his parents had made of her. He’d gone despite his parents’ protests, despite how they’d told him that they couldn’t lose him too, that they’d find someone else to distribute the images. Even when he’d expanded the search to the surrounding area, hoping for whispers of his sister, he had to admit that she was long since gone.

_You lost both your kids ages ago_ , he’d thought bitterly at the time, because he knew he wasn’t the same; knew he wasn’t the person they all wanted him to be. That boy was dead. The man who had returned from the War a mere ghost. The thought haunted him even now, but he did his best to quell it.

Still, he could at least bring back Cinder. He could give them one child not utterly broken; could still protect her like a good big brother even if he could do little else for her.

Six months. It had been six months since Cheltenham, and only now was he back in London, soaking in the ever familiar fumes, the idle chatter that filled the streets. To look at these people it was impossible to know that the War had touched this corner of the world. That the Germans had done their very best to break the British spirit. The buildings were the only indication of the horrors they had seen, even at home. People were too busy hiding wounds with lavish parties and shows of their aliveness to dwell on it all for more than a few fleeting seconds.

For some reason, it made Wilf sick. His stomach twisted. He could never be like them. He could never so easily brush aside what he had seen, what had happened to him. He could still feel the press of his own captivity; the work he was forced to do when they realised he didn’t have any information. When they thought he was better a captive than a corpse.

Wilf felt as though his teeth might shatter with the force of his clenched jaw, but he kept walking. This was his last resort. A deal with the devil if it meant perhaps saving Luce. It was a risk he was willing to take.

Darby Sabini’s place was as lavish as they came. The man rarely ever actually went to his own clubs, but these were dark times. The Jews had taken most of Camden, and the resulting war was easily ignored by people who were used to such violence. Ignored, but never truly forgotten. People still hurried home as soon as the sky showed even the barest hints of darkness, unwilling to be drawn into the horrors that the gangs were willing to bring upon each other. But Sabini’s place showed no sign of it. It stood pride of place in the middle of the street; customers flitting in and out, music floating from the never closed door, mingled with laughter and chatter.

Wilf paused at the corner of the street. Some part of him that hadn’t been twisted by his experiences knew that this was a terrible idea. If Luce had gone willingly, as her letter suggested, if she was happy, then he had no right to drag her back to the city that she’d feld.

That she’d abandoned.

But it wasn’t as simple as that. She’d been selfish to leave their parents, to leave him, to cope with everything alone. She’d run away because she couldn’t cope, he understood that better than she probably assumed, and part of him hated her for having found that strange kind of courage.

So he gritted his teeth, clenched his hands, and marched up to the doorman. Old allegiances were easily exploited. That much he’d learnt on the front lines.

‘I’m here to see Mr. Sabini,’ he said, conjuring as much confidence as he could muster, willing them not to see the way his hands were shaking; the pallor of his skin in the dim nightlight. Part of him was sick with what he was about to do, another part growled almost ferociously at the fact that he was finally able to do something useful. God knew he hadn’t felt useful since he returned.

Not that he thought God was listening any more.

The doorman surveyed him coolly, a malicious smirk slipped onto his face as his colleagues shared in the look. ‘Get lost,’ he drawled, waving a lazy hand.

Wilf let out an irritable breath, forced himself not to smack the guy. ‘It’s about Lucinda Turner.’

Instantly, the guy was alert. Rumours weren’t hard to follow for Wilf, who had spent his time watching in the German prisons, waiting to see if they ever slipped up. They never did, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t learnt a little something.

One of the bouncers murmured Luce’s old nickname, one that send a shiver down his back: _Piccola Rossa_.

The doorman murmured something before hurrying inside.

_Good_ , thought Wilf, crossing his arms firmly over his chest. At least some of his information was right. They were looking for Luce as much as he was, needing to know what she might know, what information she might be selling on to others as a way of making ends meet. Almost two years had passed since the world got news of Sylvain Alfonsi’s death, and they hadn’t got hold of her. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud or worried.

Five minutes of tense silence. That was all it took for the doorman to return. He looked completely unruffled as he motioned Wilf forwards.

Wilf nodded, an almost smug smile pulling at his lips as he stepped passed the bouncers, as he finally entered the world of gangs that he had never wanted to be sucked into.

He watched the twists and turns that they took, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think they were going anywhere important. Probably some meeting room. Nothing that he could use if he was to try anything. Sabini was clever, and that was exactly what Wilf needed. Still he stored each of the corridor twists, each of the little deviations, away in the back of his mind, just in case.

The doorman knocked before opening the door and motioning Wilf in.

He didn’t even nod his thanks, merely strode into the room. Any caution he might have felt previously had long since burnt out of him.

‘What do you know about Sy’s _piccola rossa_?’ Sabini asked, not beating around the proverbial bush. The old nickname was like a dagger to the heart, but the fact he had also spoken of Sylvain softly meant that there were still old wounds there. The boy hadn’t even been eighteen.

‘Nothing,’ said Wilf simply, and he saw the twitch of Sabini’s hand, saw the way his guards tensed. One of them had to be Sy’s father. The one on the right; the one with the stoic expression and the cold eyes. A man trying to ignore the hurt, or utilise it into something more deadly. ‘At least, nothing concrete. But if I know my sister’ – a flicker of something almost resembling shock flashed behind Sabini’s eyes; as if he hadn’t recognised Wilf from before – ‘then you won’t find her with brute force.’

Sabini lent forwards on the table, steepled his fingers close to his lips. ‘And why do you think we’re looking for some posh kid anyway?’

‘Because the Jews took your place,’ Wilf said, sensing the rising anger in the room at his words. But they were necessary. ‘And you think you have a mole. You’ve tried all your people and not one of them broke.’

Sabini examined him as if he were something to scrape off his boot. Wilf didn’t wilt though. He’d had far worse thrown his way for far less.

The slightest incline of Sabini’s head was all it took. Almost immediately, two men were holding Wilf’s arms in painful grips. A third man punched him hard in the gut. Wilf bent as far as his captors would allow him to. The next blow, a punch to the kidney, earned a low moan.

‘What if we sent out word that her dearly beloved brother was taken? Would that be enough to draw the rat from the sewers?’

‘No,’ Wilf said, spitting blood. It was a lie, and they all knew it, but he wasn’t going to allow that to happen ever again. He’d fight to the death if it meant not being taken, not being made something to barter with.

‘Then why come here? Why show your face?’

‘Because,’ said Wilf through gritted teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of his pain, ‘you help me get my sister back and I’ll get her to tell you whatever she knows without you needing to do anything.’

Sabini surveyed him coolly. Wilf knew that everything balanced on this. Knew that he needed the final blow to make anything stick.

‘Help me find her, and you won’t have to break your promise to Sy in order to assure her honesty.’

The sentence hung in the air. The room was filled with tension, a heavy blanket over all of them. Wilf kept his eyes on Sabini, watching for any sign that he might try sending his people.

After a moment, Francisco Alfonsi nodded almost imperceptibly. His hand dropped from his pocket. Wilf thought that there was still a flicker of pain behind his eyes, a cold look that would never fully leave him after the death of his son, but did his best to ignore it.

‘We have a deal, Mr. Turner,’ Sabini said, waving off the guards.

Wilf caught himself before he could fall and looked unwaveringly at Sabini. If Luce hated him for this he could bare it as long as it meant she was back home. Back in the safety of their parents’ house.

***

Hal watched as Stanley fiddled nervously with his tie. The boy had grown a ridiculous amount over the past couple of years; he was almost as tall as Hal himself now, practically towering over the other Shelbys. Still, Stan was never going to be an imposing figure; even after all his time working with the horses, there was something too kind about him for that air to ever fully settle on him.

But Hal shook his head imperceptibly, gripped Cece’s hand a little tighter. He knew that he should be focused on the funeral, on saying goodbye to Freddie. And yet he couldn’t. There’d been too many funerals over the years. Too much heartbreak. This was another in that ever growing list.

Without looking, Luce gently stilled Stan’s hands. He looked at her quickly, and a little of the tension seemed to dissipate. Hal could understand why some people mistook them for a couple, but the duo had never made that move. Not as far as he knew, at least. Somehow, it was all the sweeter to Hal, knowing that they had a constant in the ever shifting world of Birmingham. An anchor no matter what the world threw at them.

Cecily squeezed his hand, brought him back to the moment.

‘… and give him peace. Amen,’ the vicar said softly.

‘Amen,’ replied the congregation.

It was Tommy that stepped forwards, and really Hal shouldn’t have been surprised. Tommy and Freddie had been friends since childhood. Things had shifted ever so slightly over the years, but there was no denying the link they had.

Tommy cleared his throat. ‘I promised my friend Freddie Thorne that I’d say a few words over his grave if he should pass before me,’ he said, and Hal’s eyes strayed to Ada, to Karl who was in her arms, not quite understanding what was going on but somehow remaining quiet. ‘I made this promise before he became me brother-in-law; when we were in France, fighting for the King.’

‘Amen,’ said Arthur clearly, and Hal mumbled his own agreement.

‘And in the end,’ went on Tommy, ‘it wasn’t war that took Freddie. Pestilence took him.’

‘Come here,’ said John softly, taking the crying babe from Esme. Hal’s chest tightened ever so slightly, but he couldn’t explain why.

‘But Freddie passed on his soul and his spirit to a new generation before he was cruelly taken,’ Tommy said, and Hal knew that he was thinking of Karl. A boy who would never know his father, would never know that despite his stubbornness, Freddie Thorne was a good man. A man who would fight by the side of his friends, so long as the cause was one he believed in.

Oddly, the thought brought a small smile to Hal’s lips.

When all was done, Cece pulled Hal towards Ada. ‘Want me to take him?’ she asked softly, gently stroking Karl’s cheek. The little boy clung to her finger, and Ada nodded almost thankfully.

Instinctively, Hal rested a hand on Ada’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, there was nothing he could say that other people hadn’t already. Nothing that would help with the pain she was feeling. She patted his hand carefully, her own silent thank you as she moved to walk with a waiting Tommy.

‘Do you ever think what it’d be like?’ Cece asked, voice softly musing as she ruffled Karl’s hair.

‘Dying?’ he asked, perplexed by the morbid question.

She hit him gently on the shoulder, and in his shock he stumbled back a couple of paces.

‘No, this.’ She shifted Karl a little, a small smile gracing her lips.

‘Oh,’ he said, blinking slowly. Of all the things to talk about at a funeral. But then, that was Cecily Hawthorne; she never fully followed the expectations laid out for her.

Karl fidgeted and Cece sighed before carefully putting him on the floor. ‘Take care,’ she said, voice stern but oddly soft in the graveyard, as he hurried off to his cousins.

‘Honestly? No,’ Hal admitted, and he saw the flicker of disappointment behind Cece’s eyes. But he carefully took her hand, gave it a squeeze. ‘I will. But maybe not by a graveside.’

She let out a soft scoff and squeezed his hand back, reassuring him that she was still there; that she wasn’t going anywhere. A silent promise for herself as much as for him.

***

‘One,’ said Luce softly, hands over her eyes, back to the scurrying children. Stanley watched on, not wanting to disrupt the game and not wanting to be part of it. It was one thing to keep an eye on the children, it was another entirely to join in with the game of graveyard hide-and-seek. ‘Two.’ The lilt of amusement behind Luce’s voice was barely contained, but he knew it was for the benefit of the children. All throughout the service her eyes had skimmed to Ada, worrying about her friend the same as he was. But Ada was strong, and as far as he’d seen she hadn’t shed a tear. Those were hers, not for the funeral. He wished there was more that he could do for her, but nothing sprang to mind.

Karl giggled as he grabbed Stanley’s trouser leg and pulled himself behind his uncle. ‘Sshh,’ he whispered, putting a finger to his lips.

Despite it all, a small smirk quirked Stan’s lips. He nodded before turning back to Luce. In the monochrome colours of the graveyard her hair seemed even redder. Not as dark as the flag some of Freddie’s friends had held, but enough to seem as though she were almost a part of it.

‘Ten,’ she said, lowering her hands and making a show of glancing around the tombstones. It didn’t matter that Katie and Karl were obviously easy to spot, she glanced over them briefly, all part of the game. She caught his eye, shot him a small wink before turning.

But that’s when Stanley felt Karl’s grip slacken, when he turned to see him and John’s eldest, Joshua, reaching for flowers off someone’s headstone.

‘Boys!’ Aunt Polly’s voice was quick and sharp. The two kids scarpered before they could incur the full force of her wrath, scurrying away to hide while Luce still had her back to them, searching for the other three.

Stan nodded to his aunt. She gave him a fleeting smile before turning to see Tommy and Ada.

‘Found you,’ sang Luce, snapping his attention back to the game at hand. She was ruffling Wendy’s hair. The small girl didn’t even look as though she’d been hiding, but despite having lost there was a wide smile on her face.

‘I know where Karl is,’ she sang, grabbing Luce’s fingers and pulling her away.

Luce caught Stanley’s eye and there was a smile on her face that eased a little of his worries about everything. His own grief at the loss Karl would never truly understand was a dull, constant buzz at the back of his thoughts.

‘Well I can’t just cheat!’ she said dramatically, gently prying her hand away from Wendy’s grip. She put her hands on the little girl’s shoulders. ‘Why don’t you go tell your uncle Stan?’

Wendy turned her attention quickly, whipping her head around to find him. She nodded vigorously before skipping over to him. None of the kids seemed to fully realise the pressing weight of the graveyard. For a moment, Stan was slightly jealous of them.

‘Only Luce Turner would think of a game like hide-and-seek in a graveyard.’ Ada’s voice was soft, and yet still it caught Stan’s attention as Wendy latched onto him.

‘Trust me, it was the only way to stop them climbing the headstones,’ noted Stanley, looking to his sister. Being out of Birmingham had been good for her. Out of all of the Shelbys, she looked least like she was teetering on the edge of despair. Even at her own husband’s funeral!

‘I still wouldn’t put it past them,’ Ada noted, gently catching Karl’s arm as he rushed to hide behind another stone. ‘Come on, we should head home.’

‘So soon?’ asked Luce, walking over to them, a slight frown on her face. Even at a funeral it was obvious she was missing Ada as much as Stanley. She might not have gone to London to see the woman, but they had written to each other, met up in different cities as if that might sate Luce’s adventurous heart even a little. It was one of the things that Stanley had loved seeing over the past couple of years: their blossoming friendship.

Ada nodded slightly as she gave Luce a hug. ‘You should come visit one day. Show me the city.’

Luce chuckled softly, but they all knew it wouldn’t happen. Despite the size of London, Luce wouldn’t risk going back there for money nor love. There were too many ghosts, he’d learnt that during late nights in Charlie’s yard, in between lessons on the stars and the stories Polly had taught him about them.

‘I think you’ve got a handle on it, Ada,’ she said as she pulled away. ‘Look after yourself.’

Ada surveyed the two of them for a moment, a soft if sad smile on her face as she said, ‘You two, too,’ before walking away with Karl in her arms.

For a moment, Stan felt the urge to follow her; to get out of the city that his brothers were slowly making their own by whatever means necessary. But he didn’t, and he felt someone pull on his trouser leg.

‘Come on,’ he said, scooping Katie up; Wendy was already rushing over to John, tugging Luce with her. Some things weren’t so bad after all; at least he still had his family around him, and the legitimate business gaining ground to focus on.

Stan drummed his fingers against his leg, his attention caught by every flicker of flame. Everything that looked as though it might be the horror they were about to see; what someone had done to the Garrison while they were all mourning. Part of him hadn’t wanted to go and see this, had wanted to ignore the threat that it presented.

And yet he couldn’t. Luce’s rooms were above the place, and despite the others’ reservations about her coming back with them, she’d insisted. There was a steel behind her eyes that they were slowly growing accustomed to, one that Stanley had seen on more than one occasion. There was no arguing with her, and even Tommy had just nodded to say that she needed to see this, see what had happened for herself.

It was because he couldn’t let her deal with it alone that he’d ended up in the back of Hal’s car with her, his heart thundering, his fears about what they were going to find clawing at him. As they pulled up to the Garrison his stomach sank. Police had cordoned off the place; kids were running around, their yells nothing to do with the shell of a place that sat sadly before them. The fire was long put out, but the windows were shattered.

Luce was out of the car in an instant and Stanley scrambled after her, held her wrist gently in the hopes of preventing her from rushing into the place, from possibly injuring herself.

‘Let them deal with it,’ Stan said as Moss allowed Tommy and Aunt Polly under the rope.

Luce’s attention snapped to him and he could see the tears welling in her eyes. Her bottom lip trembled, but he pulled her closer. ‘You can stay with us,’ he said softly. ‘We’ll find somewhere.’

Not once did she look away from the structure though. It was as if she were trying to soak in the appearance. Memorise the details of everything that had happened.

Gently, she pried herself away from him. Her shaking hands gripped the strap of her satchel, held all the things she loved most in the world close. For once, Stanley was glad that she kept the bag close at all times. That the things she so cherished were safe from the destruction. She’d stayed in Birmingham for two years, but he was still terrified that she might just run away one day. That eventually she’d simply disappear with little more than a note. But today there was an odd kind of comfort in the fact that’d taken to carrying the satchel with her. She still hadn’t told him why, and he wasn’t going to push her; he’d wait until she was ready to share those secrets.

‘Go to the shop,’ Tommy said, marching over to them all. Polly’s attention shifted ever so slightly to Luce, scanning her, checking how she was doing. ‘Wait there… Lucinda?’ He raised an eyebrow, and it was only then that Stan realised she was shaking her head. 

‘There’s a boat that needs fixing,’ she said, as if it were the only thing that mattered in the whole world. Two years and her fear of Tommy Shelby appeared to have dissipated slightly. Stan knew better than that though, knew that she was only saying it because fear at having lost her rooms was worse. He knew that she was mentally running through all the things that might happen if he disagreed with her statement; figuring out her options and escape routes.

Tommy inclined his head ever so slightly; relenting to her stubbornness. 

Stan didn’t bother trying to figure out why his brother was giving in, there was usually a motive for it. Instead, he watched as Luce turned on her heel and started for the boatyard. Then, he looked back to his brother; he’d catch up with her shortly, right now he needed reassurance that they were safe. That this wasn’t a declaration of some kind of war. ‘What happened, Tom?’ Perhaps he should have sat in on family meetings, if only to find out what was going on, what threats they should be avoiding. No matter how legitimate they were, the darkness kept creeping back in around them.

‘Gas and electric don’t mix,’ Tommy said simply, moving to light his cigarette.

Stan nodded once but didn’t buy it. Plenty of places had both and this hadn’t happened there. There was no point arguing though, he nodded briefly to the others as he passed, as he jogged to catch up with Luce, determined to make sure that she wasn’t alone to deal with all this.

***

The quiet of the funeral had been deafening, the lack of action made him jumpy. The shop might not have been filled with the kind of action Hal craved, but it was a damn sight better than the graveyard. The constant motion of people, the noise of it, the imposing figure of the cage that protected their little office, all of it was familiar and a strange sort of comfort. All of it reminded him that life went on, forced his mind to keep active instead of dwelling on every other thing that threatened to crowd his thoughts with the inaction.

‘Finn! Get in here,’ called John, and Hal’s attention shifted to the room where his friend was taking phone bets. A small smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. He’d taken to the position with ease but there was still a part of Hal that missed standing on the mini-stage, watching his friend make all the notes of bets, scrubbing them away and writing up new numbers. It was all like a foreign language to Hal, something he couldn’t quite understand, but it had been routine. It had felt as though they were in their element there. 

Finn moved passed Hal, nodded to him slightly, and then disappeared into the room.

‘Finn! Hold the phone. Come here,’ said John. There was a tension behind his friend’s voice. He knew that he was thinking about the Garrison, knew that his thoughts were on Polly who had recently arrived.

‘Come on,’ said John, patting Hal on the shoulder, jutting his chin towards where his aunt was talking to one of the bookkeepers at the door.

‘Polly,’ he greeted as they entered. ‘Did he say who did it?’

Whatever business Polly had instantly didn’t matter. She spoke as she walked towards them. ‘He’s gone to the Black Lion.’

‘On his own?’ asked Hal, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

‘Tommy does everything on his own,’ Polly said simply, moving passed, heading out of the cage and towards the family room. There was obviously something more to this, something that the shop wasn’t meant to accidentally overhear.

‘Should I go to the Black Lion?’

‘What?’

‘Should we go there and see him?’ insisted John, shifting tact ever so slightly.

A small smirk tugged at Hal’s lips.

‘No,’ said Polly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

‘Where the fuck is Arthur?’ asked John. Already Hal could see that he was feeling caged. That he was missing the action as much as Hal himself was. It was all well and good trying to keep the legitimate side of things afloat, but knowing Arthur had the boxing ring made it difficult to focus sometimes. Hal knew that part of the reason he was here was to quell John, to make sure he wasn’t dealing with this all alone, but that didn’t make it any easier to cope with.

‘Protecting the Garrison’s whiskey from the police,’ Polly noted simply.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ cursed John, nodding at Hal to help him shut the doors of the family room. ‘Polly, it feels a little bit to me like things are getting out of hand.’

‘So get ‘em in hand,’ said Polly, moving to grab a cigarette from her bag.

‘Do you know what Ada said to me this morning?’ asked John, not budging from his place close to Polly. But she didn’t answer, just focused on the cigarette. ‘She said,’ went on John, unperturbed by the silence, ‘we all look like we work in a factory under the ground. She said we look like ghosts.’

Polly merely blew the smoke around the room slightly. ‘She’ll be back,’ she said simply.

‘When?’ asked Hal, feeling the tension of his friend. Between looking after the kids and working in the shop, John had more things than most to preoccupy his thoughts. He didn’t need this heaped on top of it. Surely Polly could see that.

‘When she needs us,’ said Polly simply, moving to grab a glass out of the cupboard’s drawer behind John.

‘And anyway, who the fuck would blow up our pub?’

‘Six.’

‘Six?’ asked Hal, casting a curious look to John. But his friend was just as baffled as he was.

‘Between you, seven questions since you walked through the door,’ said Polly, and Hal coughed to cover his disbelieving chuckle. But she trained her eyes on her nephew. ‘Soon you’re going to have to start being the man with the answers.’

‘Why?’

‘Eight,’ Polly said simply, putting her feet up by the fire. ‘Because when London happens, you’ll have to hold up your end or we’ll find somebody else who can.’

John’s expression soured, and Hal felt an uncomfortable knot of concern settle in his stomach. London was more than just the idle plan of Tommy’s now. If Polly thought it was happening for certain then that meant things were finally in place.

Despite John’s irritation as he stormed from the room, as he went back to take the bets because it was easier to deal with them than the look Polly had pinned him with, Hal couldn’t help but feel a little glad things were finally happening. That maybe Tommy had finally decided that he’d pressed Luce enough for information. That perhaps now she might be able to put the ghosts of London behind her once and for all, and that Hal himself might get som eof the action that he’d been so desperately missing. 

Arthur clenched and unclenched his hands, as if trying to work out the aches that he’d obviously picked up in the ring. Hal could tell he’d been fighting, or training at the very least, to not think about what had happened to the Garrison. The blow was too much for all of them, especially after Freddie’s funeral. Across the way, Finn was pacing. Hal couldn’t help but wonder who else might be coming to the meeting.

‘Sit down, Finn,’ said Arthur in little more than a growl.

Finn glanced to the door before finally taking up his seat. Esme was on the stairs, a book in her hands that Hal doubted she was reading, trying too hard not to get sucked into the hollow atmosphere of the room to enjoy any of it. For once, Hal almost wished that he was helping Cece look after the kids.

John looked at his watch, shot an irritable look to Hal. ‘Where the bloody hell is Tommy?’

‘He’s on his way,’ Polly said coolly over the end of his question.

‘All right then,’ said Arthur, already sounding bored, ‘while we’re waiting patiently.’ He stood up quickly, hauled a crate onto the table. ‘Whiskey – left over from the explosion.’ He passed it out around the table, making sure that Charlie and Curly got some. ‘It’s good stuff, as well.’

The awkward silence pressed in on them all.

‘Right,’ said John, standing at the head of the table, hands clasped firmly behind his back. He looked very much like the soldier he still was. The War was over but there were some things they were never going to be able to shake. ‘Before Tommy gets here, I think there’s a few things we need to get straight between the rest of us.’

‘S… _You_ think?’ asked Polly, the barest trace of a laugh behind her voice.

Hal found himself bristling on behalf of his friend; the laughter hadn’t been humorous, there was a malicious undercurrent to it.

‘Yeah,’ said John simply. ‘Yeah, I do. I want to know when did we all take a vote on this expansion south?’

Polly stepped fully into the room, no longer waiting on the periphery. ‘If you have anything to say, you wait for Thomas.’

‘Polly’s fucking right,’ agreed Arthur.

‘Yeah, I see all the books,’ noted John. ‘Legal and off track. Sort of stuff you don’t see. And in the past year the Shelby Company Limited has been making a-hundred-and-fifty pounds a day.’ Tension rippled around the room, and Hal felt himself readying for a fight. Civil war wasn’t something he wanted to think about right now, but it was the only thing that sprang to mind. ‘Right? A fucking day. Sometimes more. So what I wanna know is why are we changin’ things? Polly, look what’s happened already. We haven’t even set foot in London yet and they’ve already blown up our fucking pub.’

‘Who said anything about cockneys?’ said Arthur, his voice low.

‘Who else?’ piped up Esme.

‘Do you know who did it, do you?’ asked Polly, sounding somewhat amused.

‘Na, she doesn’t know who did it,’ John was quick to defend as the sound of a door caught Hal’s attention.

Tommy walked around the corner, hands in pockets and a sour expression on his face.

‘I’m told only family are allowed to speak,’ said Esme moodily, her attention skimming back to the book.

‘Everyone’s allowed to speak,’ Tommy said. ‘On your feet, Esme, let’s hear what you have to say.’

Esme glanced to John, who cleared his throat and stood a little straighter. ‘I speak for our household. So –’

‘John,’ said Tommy, his voice even but with a dangerous warning held carefully behind it, ‘this company is a modern enterprise and believes in equal rights for women. On your feet, Esme.’

Esme closed her book carefully, as if she were composing herself, while Polly moved to finally sit. Hal cast a curious glance to John. He could see the tension in his friend, knew that this challenge wasn’t going how he’d expected. Hal had the horrible feeling that they’d been left out of more than they could imagine.

‘I’m not a blood member of this family,’ Esme said, her voice calm, ‘but perhaps, indeed, because I’m not a member I can see things in a different light. So I’ll get to my point.’

‘That would be nice,’ said Polly cuttingly.

‘As my husband said,’ continued Esme, unperturbed by the harshness of the others, ‘Shelby Company Limited is now very successful. But London. I have kin in Shepherd’s Bush and Portobello. It’s more like wars between armies down there. And the coppers fight side-by-side with them. And there are foreigners of every description and the use of bombs is the least of it.

‘I have a child, blessed with the Shelby family good looks. I want John to see him grow up. I want us to someday live somewhere with fresh air and trees and keep chickens or something. But London is just smoke and trouble, Thomas.’

‘“Thomas”?’ queried Polly, and Hal felt the tug of a smirk on his lips.

‘That’s all I have to say,’ noted Esme simply before sitting back on the stairs. John folded his arms tightly across his chest. A show of solidarity or something else, for once Hal couldn’t quite figure out.

‘That was a lot of words, a lot of words,’ noted Arthur. He grabbed a glass and passed it off to Tommy. ‘Wash them down with a nice drink.’

‘Thank you, Esme,’ said Tommy in a mock toast before downing the whiskey. He put the glass on the table with a hard noise. ‘Firstly, the bang in the pub was nothing to do with London. Understood? The bang is something I’m dealing with on my own.’

Despite everything, Hal couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He saw the irritation creeping into John’s shoulders as well.

‘Secondly, we’ve nothing to fear from the proposed business expansion so long as we stick together. From what we already know, that’s where strength lies down there. And after the first few weeks, nine tenths of what we do in London will be legal. The other tenth is in good hands. Isn’t that right, Arthur?’

‘That’s right,’ his brother agreed.

‘Now,’ continued Tommy, ‘some of you in this room have expressed your reservations. Fair enough. Any of you who want no part in the future of this company, walk out the door.’

The invitation hung in the air. John sniffed, turned to face his brother but didn’t move. Hal didn’t move either. From what little he knew about the expansion, from the amount of times Tommy had asked him to make sure Luce was back from the yard to talk to, he had a feeling she was a part of all this in some bizarre way. For some reason, he had to stay because of that. Had to make sure that the redhead didn’t drown in all the Shelby stuff. Partly, it was because of Cece, because of Stan. But it was also because he could see the toll London was taking on her. He was afraid that soon she’d run again, and never look back. 

‘Right now,’ Tommy added after a beat. Still, nobody moved. ‘Go raise your chickens. For those of you with ambition the expansion process begins tomorrow.’

While the rest of the room seemed to take a moment for the words to sink in, Arthur smirked, sipped his whiskey and looked happier than Hal had seen him in a couple of weeks.

***

Luce had hovered on the pavement for an inordinate amount of time. She’d rubbed her hands together, barely stopped herself from lighting a match just for something to do with her hands. Smoking wasn’t a habit she’d taken up, but there was an odd comfort in the motions of the lighting the match. A flame that she could keep with her to fend off the darkness that was beginning to crowd her once more. Thoughts of London had brought it all back to her, despite her best efforts not to let them.

The only reason she had even stepped inside the house was to see how it all worked. Esme had told her that Mrs Price was a charlatan, that there were some people who could actually communicate with the dead. She’d said the woman fed off heartbreak for money, and literally spat at the floor in disdain.

But Luce couldn’t face people who could truly communicate. Not yet, at least. She just needed a distraction. The laborious work at the yard hadn’t been enough for her to get the image of the destroyed Garrison out of her head. It reminded her too much of the empty shells she and Sy had explored back in London, always careful not to disrupt the memories that were there for others. The horrors still too fresh.

The last person arrived, pulling Luce from her thoughts, her excuses for being drawn to the house with the candles dimly lit in the windows. She looked up, tried for a small smile but faltered ever so slightly. She glanced briefly at the others and nodded, not sure how she was meant to act around Polly Gray when there were strangers in the room; others who would instantly recognise her. Despite having come of her own volition, nothing else would bring Polly here, the woman seemed on edge. She didn’t look happy to be there, and Luce wondered if perhaps she should leave.

But, as Polly finally settled beside her, the older woman gently gave her knee a reassuring squeeze. An assurance that they were in this together.

‘Let’s begin,’ Mrs Price said. ‘Hands on the table.’

Luce was the first to follow, Polly the last.

‘Tonight,’ Mrs Price went on, ‘we have three new pilgrims joining us. So, let’s welcome them.’ She nodded to Luce, Polly and another woman to Polly’s left in turn. ‘Starting with you. Who is it that you are seeking to reach?’

‘My husband,’ the other woman said. ‘He was taken six months ago by the influenza.’ She swallowed, her throat bobbed. ‘I tried to reach him through Mrs Breach at Sparkhill but she kept getting his middle name wrong.’

‘Don’t talk about Mrs Breach in this house,’ the psychic bit out. ‘She’s an un-sanctified charlatan.’

Polly smirked, tried to hide a slight snigger behind her hand. Luce felt the corners of her own lips turning upwards.

‘And you?’ the psychic asked, turning her attention to Luce, saving Polly for last. ‘Who do you seek?’

Luce shifted ever so slightly. Her fingers found a stray piece of hair and began working it into a tight wrap.

‘A friend of mine,’ she said, attention resolutely on the table, unable to look the other woman in the eye. ‘He… he died in the War and… And I just…’ She sucked in a deep breath, forcefully wiped away the tears she could already feel sliding down her cheeks. She knew this was just a game to the woman across the table, a way to make money, but the thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , she could contact him.. ‘I need to know he’s as OK as he can be.’

A soft silence settled over the room. Polly’s knee bumped hers gently. Luce let it reassure her slightly. Polly Gray’s comfort was not given often to those outside of the family.

‘Who do you seek?’ Mrs Price asked. If she made any indication that she was now talking to Polly, Luce didn’t see it.

‘Well, the truth… Sorry, the truth is, I’m not even sure she’s dead. So I came here to find out.’ Polly was quiet for a moment, and Luce gently nudged her knee under the table. She’d only seen the woman look this torn up once before and it was to do with her children. If she thought something had happened…

‘Er,’ said Polly uncertainly. ‘You see, my son and my daughter were taken from me when they were very small – taken by the parish authorities. And I never knew what happened to them. But lately I’ve had a feeling. Like, a feeling… I can’t put it into words. And I keep having a dream. I see a pretty girl, about eighteen years old. She’s standing across the street and she tells me she’s passed over. Now, my daughter would have been eighteen this year. On May fifteenth.’

A shiver went down Luce’s spine. Part of her wondered if it wasn’t easier for Polly to admit this to a bunch of strangers. If perhaps she shouldn’t have tried someone else for her distraction.

‘And this girl,’ continued Polly, once again drawing Luce in so that she couldn’t simply abandon the woman in her grief, ‘has dark eyes like mine.’ She rubbed a thumb firmly under her own eye, which Luce realised was welling up. But Polly wouldn’t let the tears fall. Not until she had got to the end of her story. ‘And she shouts… and shouts. And she tells me she wants to talk to me because I’m her mother. Now, I don’t even know what name they gave her after they stole her from me. But if she does want to say goodbye I thought this would be the place.’ She wiped away the tear that had escaped down her cheek before she was ready. She looked almost irritated by it.

‘You’re wearing the Black Madonna,’ said the psychic simply. ‘You Gypsy?’

‘The part of me that dreams is Gypsy,’ said Polly evenly.

The other woman said something in Romani that Luce didn’t have time to translate. Even evenings with Esme hadn’t helped her grasp the language. For some reason she kept slipping back to the Italian that Sy had taught her; kept getting things mixed up.

‘My maiden name is Shelby,’ said Polly simply, and Luce noticed the twitch in the other new lady’s cheek that set her teeth on edge. Felt the coolness of the room but tried to ignore it. Polly had as much right as any of them to be there; surnames be damned. ‘So,’ said Polly, ignoring the rising tension, ‘perhaps you could do me first.’

Polly was up and out of the room in an instant. Luce didn’t wait for her turn, she couldn’t. The more she thought about it, the more she knew that she’d only run away again if she brought these ghosts here. Two years. Two years and she hadn’t ever felt the actual need to vanish again. She was always prepared, a precaution that had settled over her the more Tommy asked about London, but she never truly left.

So she followed Polly into the street, trying to outrun her own grief in some small way; trying to be there for the woman that looked out for them in her own ways.

‘No!’ The anguish behind Polly’s voice was almost too much to bear. She paced the street, yelled.

Luce hovered on the pavement, wanting to hug her, to assure her that it was all right. That her daughter would have known – even without realising it – that her mother had cared. But they were flowery words. Words meant for people who would accept them rather than the pain of knowing what had been taken. People who were worlds away from Polly; worlds away from Luce now, she guessed.

Instead she waited until Polly’s anger turned to sadness once more. Then, tentatively, she stepped down from the curb.

‘Polly?’ she asked softly.

In an instant, the woman was holding her, hugging her close as if Luce was the only thing keeping her from floating away. After her initial panic, Luce wound her arms around the other woman, hugged her close. She didn’t bother making cooing noises, just held onto Polly, letting her cry into her shoulder, knowing that there was nothing she could do to help ease the pain.

***

Tommy had, oddly, come to pick Hal up first from Charlie’s yard. He knew that it was more to check in with Luce, to make sure that everything she’d told them was enough to make this work, but it still felt strange sitting as passenger to Tommy Shelby’s driving. He was surprised that the man hadn’t somehow twisted Luce’s arm into coming, but he was grateful for Luce’s insistence that she wouldn’t join them. Grateful that, for once, Tommy wasn’t making her face her fears.

‘All right, Tommy’s here!’ Arthur called, and Hal had to smother a smirk as Tommy eased up to the curb. Of course John was, technically, the last to be picked up. He smothered whatever jibe bubbled inside of him though, now wasn’t the time for it. 

‘John!’ snapped Tommy once he was finally out of the car.

‘I’m coming! John hollered back.

Arthur groaned, downed a bottle of something that Hal couldn’t quite make out. Tommy’s attention snapped that way too.

‘Seven o’clock, twelve o’clock, ten if I’m still sober,’ Arthur explained as Tommy lit a cigarette. ‘I got it from the doctor – it keeps me nice and calm.’

Tommy examined the bottle, and Hal glanced at the thing over his shoulder.

‘In’t that what they gave us in the trenches?’ he asked as Tommy sniffed the bottle.

‘Yeah, to stop us fucking wanking,’ noted Tommy, almost bitterly.

‘Polly said it’s good for me temper. It slows me down, Tom.’

‘Arthur, there are some things Polly doesn’t understand,’ he said, pouring the medicine away. ‘I need you fast. Not slow, eh? Can’t leave it all up to Hal.’ He chucked the bottle across the street; glass shattered as John exited the house.

‘She wouldn’t let go of my fucking leg,’ he complained.

‘I bet that’s not all she wouldn’t let go of,’ teased Arthur as Hal clapped his friend on the shoulder.

‘Right,’ said Tommy as he climbed into the car.

‘You know she’s against this, Tom. She’s got opinions,’ noted John.

‘Nothing wrong with opinions, John.’

‘Get in the car, John,’ said Hal simply, rolling his eyes as his friend did up his flies.

John went to hit him around the back of the head, but Hal was too fast. He jumped over the back of the car and settled into the seat behind Tommy, a smirk on his face.

‘Show off,’ complained John, hauling himself into the car as Arthur sat on the passenger-side door.

‘Right!’ he shouted as Tommy started to drive. ‘The Peaky Blinders are going on fucking holiday!’

‘Sit down, you mad bastard,’ laughed John, grabbing his brother’s coat and pulling him to sit.

For one moment, Hal was able to wonder if perhaps they might actually get a holiday out of this. But still, he longed for the action that London promised, even if only for a short amount of time.

‘Look at this! Look,’ said Arthur, a hint of excitement behind his voice. ‘I love it.’

‘That’s why you’re pissing all over it?’ asked Hal, leaning on the edge of the car, checking his pistol once more.

Arthur shot a look of disdain over his shoulder before looking back out across the countryside. ‘Your Esme was right about one thing, you can’t beat the countryside. You know, I think I want to live in the country one day and keep chickens.’

‘Yeah, we’ll see you in London, Arthur,’ called John as Hal moved to the back of the car once more.

But Tommy shook his head before Hal could jump in; he peeled away the back’s cover to reveal a dead body and some shovels.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ cursed John.

‘And here I was thinking that stench was you,’ Hal jibed as a shovel was pushed to his chest.

‘Take these,’ said Tommy simply. ‘We need to bury him.’

‘Who the fuck is that?’ asked John.

‘It’s Irish business,’ Tommy told them. ‘I thought it best if I deal with it on me own. Come on, we did a thousand of these in France. John, grab his head.’ Tommy pulled open the door.

‘So, we’re not really going to London?’ asked John as he moved to Hal’s side of the car.

‘Once we bury him,’ said Tommy from the edge of the car, for once the tallest person amongst them, ‘then the holiday begins.’

Despite everything Tommy had told them - though, by extension, Luce - London was nothing like what Hal had been expecting. The smoke that hung in the air seemed to cling more insistently to things than back home. More cars trundled about. People milled in the streets, laughing and messing around as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Money, he guessed, made relaxed people. Car horns tooted, angry gestures thrown out of windows; the occasional ruckus laughter quickly followed.

As they neared the club, Hal felt his usual fight calmness flood over him. He watched as Tommy passed over notes. He gently elbowed John in the ribs, a smirk on his face.

‘Per’aps we should’ve come down here sooner,’ he teased, his attention flicking everywhere, checking for the first sign of trouble.

They passed through the doors easily and were practically assaulted by the sound of a live band. Of people giggling. At one wall, two men were kissing. Elsewhere, people were sniffing things off tables. If people thought Birmingham was bad, they’d obviously never seen London.

_No wonder Luce still hasn’t run off_ , Hal thought. She probably didn’t scare half as easily as they all assumed if this was what she’d grown up around.

‘It’s a fucking freak show,’ said Arthur as they passed through gold draped curtains.

‘They’re worse than you!’ teased Hal, knocking the back of John’s head amicably, rolling his eyes at two people having sex on a seat, not a care in the world to who saw.

John elbowed him lightly in the ribs as they kept walking, following Tommy into the belly of the beast. People were flinging their arms around on what must have been considered a dancefloor. It was hectic, madness, nothing like anything Hal had seen before. It was like another world entirely.

‘What the fuck is that racket?’ asked Arthur, having to shout to be heard as they descended the stairs into what must have passed for a bar.

‘This is what they call music these days, brother,’ announced Tommy.

‘Music?’ asked Arthur, as if it were a completely foreign idea to him.

They circled, Hal’s attention never lingering too long on anything in particular. There was so much to assault the senses that he was a little glad Arthur hadn’t had more of his medicine. Slow was certainly not what they needed today.

John, however, looked as though he were a kid in a sweetshop.

‘Oi!’ shouted Tommy, moving over to two kissing people at one table. ‘Oi! Put it away.’

‘Fuck off!’ shouted John, jumping around the other side of the couple.

But Hal’s attention was elsewhere. A man hovered around the edge of the dancefloor, his attention skittering just as much as Hal’s own. At a rough guess, he was about John’s height; blond hair a little shaggier than seemed to be the norm amongst other Londoners. There was something haunted about him; even from here, Hal could see the sweat beading on his forehead and rolling down the side of his face.

Hal placed a hand on the comforting weight of the razors in his cap’s peak.

‘You sitting, mate?’ asked John, drawing Hal back to the present, to the table that seemed to be exactly in the right place to see the whole establishment.

‘Irish whiskey – a bottle,’ Tommy ordered, his voice loud even over the slight lull in music.

‘And hurry up!’ Arthur yelled in the man’s face before dropping into the spare seat at their table.

But Hal’s attention skittered the room once more. The blond man was gone, but he could still feel the ripple of being hunted skimming down his spine.

‘Fucking hell, I recognise a few of these lads,’ said John.

‘That’s Sabini’s cousin, over there,’ said Arthur, tipping his head in the direction of the man.

‘That’s right, Arthur, it’s Sabini’s club,’ noted Tommy.

‘Jesus Christ, everybody in here’s a fucking face,’ said John.

‘Not everyone,’ murmured Hal, his attention on the room, seeking out the unfamiliar. And yet, there had been something odd about the man. Something that niggled irritatingly at the back of his mind.

‘Just the lieutenants, John. No sign of the officers,’ noted Tommy as a waiter sorted out their drink.

‘Right, let’s line them up,’ said John, not batting an eyelid as he turned one glass over. ‘Holiday!’

‘Gentlemen,’ said a man far too brightly, his voice gravelly from too much smoke inhalation; he rested his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, ‘there’s been a mistake. I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave.’

‘We just bought a fucking bottle,’ snapped John, rounding on the man as Arthur glared.

Over his shoulder, Hal spotted the blond man. His eyes kept skimming over the four of them. Taking in the hats and then the faces. It were as if he was trying to consign them to memory.

‘Some of the men here,’ the other man said, snapping Hal’s attention back to the table, ‘recognise you from the racetracks in the north.’

‘Yeah,’ shouted Arthur, ‘we get that a lot.’

Tommy smirked ever so slightly, took a sip of his drink.

‘They say you have no business coming south of the line without prior agreement,’ the man insisted.

‘And what line would that be, my friend?’ asked Tommy smoothly.

‘They say this is provocation.’

Tommy merely moved to grab his drink again. ‘Right, well, you tell them we’re on holiday. This place got suggested to us by a friend. It’d be rude not to come by.’

The man shook a finger at them, like they were merely naughty schoolkids. Hal caught John’s eye, saw the dangerous smirk on his friend’s lips.

‘You’re breaking the rules. They say you are the Peaky Blinders.’

A glass shattered. In an instant, Hal was on his feet as someone yelled ‘Peaky scum!’

That was all it took for the damn to break. Hal spun, punched the person closest to him. He caught up his hat, scanned the dancehall. People were still dancing, as if it were all part of the entertainment.

Hal ducked a punch, aimed a careful counter of his own at someone’s solar plexus. He heard the wind knocked out of them, but already he was scanning, looking for the blond man. There was something dangerous about him that Hal didn’t like the look of, something that he wasn’t going to simply ignore.

And he spotted him, skulking off towards the back of the room. His hands curled and uncurled by his sides. He itched to fight, but something was holding him back.

Hal was not so restrained. He head-butted someone that was trying to run at him. He brought his other hand up, the cap caught them on the side of the face before they crashed into a table. He guessed from the sounds of it. He didn’t actually watch, just kept heading towards the blond, towards the familiar and unfamiliar that seemed to surround him.

Hal was within touching distance, his fingers barely scraped the material of the guy’s jacket, before someone shot a gun. Screams cut through the rest of the noise, which suddenly silenced, and instantly Hal’s attention went to his friends.

Arthur threw a bucket of water over someone. ‘Put some ice on ‘em!’ he said, his voice louder in the newly quiet hall.

The man who had spoken to them earlier levelled the shotgun on Tommy; he was standing in the band area. ‘Get out.’ His accent all but silenced the ‘t’s. Luce’s accent.

‘Yeah?’ Tommy asked simply, walking towards the weapon. ‘Yeah? You gonna use that?’

The man looked slightly awkwardly around him.

‘Didn’t think so,’ said Tommy evenly. He scoffed before casually walking back to the table, swiping up the bottle of whiskey. His attention skimmed the room carefully, found Hal easily. He bobbed his head almost imperceptibly, but Hal was already picking his way towards them, glancing briefly over his shoulder for the blond.

‘We came here,’ said Tommy as they moved, ‘not to make enemies. No! We came here to make new friends.’

Hal nudged John away from a woman that he was kissing, shaking his head ever so slightly. Arthur kicked a man on the floor in the gut for good measure.

‘Those of you who are last will soon be first,’ vowed Tommy. ‘And those of you who are downtrodden will rise up. Yep. You know where to find us.’

And with that they started out of the club. But Hal still glanced back, just in case, and saw nothing that might help ease his own concerns about the place.

‘I think I’ve lost a tooth,’ said Arthur as they finally felt the chill of the outside once more. Hal was glad to get the cloying smell of the place out of his system; he could practically taste the alcohol in the air and he hated it. ‘I’ll have none left at this rate! Some fucking holiday this is.’

John doubled over with silent laughter.

Hal smirked, but his heart wasn’t in the gesture.

‘Yeah? You all right without your fucking medicine now, Arthur?’ asked Tommy, and there was such a teasing lilt behind his voice Hal didn’t have it in him to worry them about the blond man. ‘Here, this’ll fix you.’

‘Give me that!’ said Arthur, snatching the bottle from his brother.

‘You, John boy, eh? How are you? Or should I ask your fucking wife?’

‘Oh, give over!’ complained John.

‘No more talk of chickens, you hear me?’

‘Fuck the chickens,’ slurred Arthur.

‘Don’t do that,’ murmured Hal, earning a scoff from John.

‘And you, Henry?’

Hal scoffed but didn’t meet Tommy’s eye. ‘Never better,’ he said simply, putting his cap firmly back on his head.

He felt the weight of Tommy’s gaze on him for a moment longer before his friend said, ‘I’ve fifty quid in me pocket. Let’s paint the town, eh?’

John made a noise like a cockerel, and Hal couldn’t help but laugh as he was dragged to walk faster down the street.

***

The Peaky Blinders had shown their hand, coming to Sabini’s club. They claimed it wasn’t an act of war, that it was merely a holiday, but Wilf could still feel the eyes that had trailed after him. The man, who was obviously not one of the brothers, had watched him, slight confusion knitting his brows. Wilf hadn’t liked it, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He’d wanted to march over to them at the time, rough them up so that they told him everything. But Sabini had given him strict instructions – no, _orders_ – not to do that. Apparently, Luce was in Birmingham. How Sabini knew, Wilf wasn’t sure, or for how long he’d actually known and done nothing with the information. In fact, for all he knew the man might have been lying. But it was better than anything else Wilf had come up with.

He shook his head ever so slightly. He needed to follow through with helping Sabini give a message to the Peaky Blinders before he tore off into the night, looking for Cinder. All he had to do was contain his anger. Maybe he could ask Tommy Shelby what he knew before Sabini got his message across.

The man didn’t even see them. He looked almost calm as he moved to his car, but the barrel of a gun pushed him back. And that’s when the others descended on him, Wilf at the front, punching him squarely in the jaw, sending him spiralling towards some of the others. He tried to hit him again, but the others had caged Tommy Shelby in. They were hitting every bit of him that they could until he was on the floor. Only then did Wilf manage to kick him in the face.

The others hauled Tommy up, and Wilf slunk back into the shadows. 

‘Tommy Shelby, I missed you at my club,’ said Sabini, his voice soft like a snake’s. ‘I was at the races.’

‘Sabini,’ grunted Tommy.

‘Don’t say my name,’ said Sabini, disgusted by the fact the other man had spoken. ‘Jesus! Franco, take my name out of his mouth.’

Wilf hovered at the edge, his attention skittering the street, wondering if he might be able to find Luce himself. He heard Tommy groaning, gurgling as Franco got to work, the blade in the other man’s mouth. But he didn’t watch. What if she was around the corner? What if she caught sight of this horror?

Then again, from what he’d heard, she’d seen far worse than this when the zeppelins had struck. At least, that’s what some of his old friends had told him at parties he’d never wanted to attend.

‘While you’re in there, do a bit of digging for gold,’ said Sabini evenly. ‘Pay for the petrol.’

Tommy spluttered, and only then did Wilf look back, as a gold tooth was passed off to Sabini.

‘See how much I know about you?’ Sabini said, holding the tooth up for Shelby to see. ‘I even know what’s in your fucking mouth. Look at me.’ He forced Shelby’s attention to him. ‘Look at me! Look at me. You take up with the Jews. Yeah, you think that’s what London’s all about. You can just come down, pick a side. You fucking clown! Now your life is over. My face is the last thing you’ll ever see on earth. Your mistake. You remember that when you get to hell.’ His Italian accent was a little thicker with his annoyance.

He dropped Tommy’s hair, his blood-soaked face lolled to his chest.

‘Finish him off,’ said Sabini, and Wilf had to control the urge not to yell. Not to snap that this man knew where his sister was. That this might be the easiest way to find her. After all, the Shelbys basically ran Birmingham from what he could gather; if anyone knew where she was, it would be a Shelby.

Franco raised a gun, but the shot was never fired. Another shot cut them off, sending the men fleeing in different directions. Whistles and the threat of police drew nearer. Wilf was off like a shot, the opposite direction to all the others, part of him wondering if now was the time to cut his ties with the Italians.Their deal was something that he wouldn’t idly throw away. 

And, Wilf was a man of his word. Soon he would have to reunite with the men that had brought him there, even if only so that they might keep up their end of the bargain. All he could do was hope that Sabini’s men were honourable, in their own twisted way, that they wouldn’t lay a hand on Cinder as long as he was with them.


	2. Chapter Two: Home's Calling

Stanley looked sick. Oddly, it was one of the things that Hal had noticed, even though his own anger was threatening to overwhelm him. If Sabini thought them crossing some imaginary line was a declaration of war, his own actions were little more than the beginning of the actual fighting. Beside him, John was wound as tightly as a coiled spring; it was only Esme’s hand on his arm keeping him from snapping. Arthur had no such self-restraint. He’d already shattered one plate by hurling it at the wall, earning a sharp snap from Polly. But even she looked ready to pull someone apart.

‘The police stopped it,’ Stanley said softly, his voice like a gunshot in the silence of the room though. All attention snapped to him, but for once he didn’t falter under the weight of it. ‘He’s still alive.’

Polly scoffed, the sound almost bitter. ‘And what do you think  _ Major Campbell  _ will do with that?’

The revelation was like a bucket of ice water over Hal.

Stan opened his mouth, tried to splutter some kind of defence, but gave up. Instead, he settled for shaking his head ever so slightly.

‘Well, what do we do?’ John’s voice was low, his attention trained on Esme’s hand, as if it really were the only thing keeping him from rushing back to London. As if she were the only thing stopping him from getting the revenge they all so desperately craved.

Polly’s attention was on him in an instant. She quirked an eyebrow ever so slightly, but didn’t press the matter.

‘We make ‘em pay,’ growled Arthur, reaching for another glass.

Finn picked it up before his brother could. The older man shot a look of utter disdain at his youngest brother before pacing the length of the room. He kept curling his hands into tight fists, letting his knuckles burn white, and then slowly releasing them.

Despite everything, Hal heaved a deep sigh, pushed himself off the wall. All attention skimmed to him. ‘We can’t, Arthur,’ he said softly, voice filled with regret. He felt his own anger bubbling up under the surface, felt his need to pay Sabini back tenfold refusing to be quashed to make way for mere reason. But he’d learnt the hard way that hitting back wasn’t always the best way to deal with things. It felt good to begin with sometimes, but eventually it ended up with you still being the losing side.

‘Then what do you suggest?’ asked John, his voice slightly sharper than normal.

Hal glanced at him. His friend’s shoulders were fraught with tension, his eyes narrowed to almost snake-like slits.

‘We wait for Tommy,’ said Polly firmly, putting her cigarette out in the ashtray more forcefully than was probably necessary. She scanned the room, fixed them all with a look that left no room for debate. ‘It’s his own bloody mess to fix.’

***

Wilf’s hand shook. Even as he tightened his grip on the paintbrush, even as he tried to clear his head of the fog that filled it, he couldn’t stop the reaction. The house was horribly silent. The place he’d left behind all those years ago had constantly been filled with noise, his mother’s music drifting between rooms; his father’s easy laughter cutting through everything else; Luce’s constant barrage of questions to anyone that would listen. Now, it was little more than a shell. A building without the soul that had once filled it with so much life.

Part of him understood why Luce had gone.

He shook the thought away though; carefully rested the paintbrush on the side. It was a stupid hobby, in his opinion. Whatever the  _ doctor  _ thought it was going to help with really wasn’t working. He constantly found himself reaching for the reds, for the dark colours that infiltrated his nightmares. Not the more soothing, lighter colours that his mother had encouraged him to use.

‘It might bring a smile to your face,’ she had said, hand placed gently on the back of his neck, stroking the shorter hair at the base. It was an old comfort, but at the time it had made his skin crawl. He hadn’t wanted to think about what she thought when she saw his painting of the horrors of war, and he’d pulled away so sharply that she took a couple of terrified steps away from him.

He groaned, raked his hands through his hair that was now longer again. He’d had to grow it out, unable to cope with the shorn style they’d given him  _ there _ .

A knock on his door startled him. In an instant his nerves were alive. He rounded on the door. Without thinking, he picked up the paintbrush and brandished it like a weapon.

His father’s face appeared, tentatively, around the door. The man had once struck an almost imposing figure with his height, despite his constant jovial smile. Now, however, he had shrunk in on himself. His shoulders were more hunched, as if he might be able to make himself smaller. The smile still lingered on his lips, but it was for the benefit of others rather than something he actually felt. Happiness no longer came so easily, but he was determined to put on the show for everyone else.

‘You coming to dinner, buddy?’ he asked, voice soft.

Wilf swallowed the lump in his throat. It had always been an excitable Cinder that pulled him away from things that had caught his attention for food; she babbled on the way to the dining room, told him about the adventures she and Sy had gone on.

But he was going to bring her back. He was going to help repair his family, to put the easy smile back on his father’s face; to remind his mother that music was allowed. That, despite the horrors, they could still be happy. Then, maybe, he might just believe it himself.

‘Of course,’ Wilf said, the words slightly more clipped than he would have liked. He carefully put the paintbrush down again, reminded himself that he was doing this for his family. It made the bitter pill of what exactly he was doing, a little easier to swallow.

***

Out the corner of his eye, Hal could see Luce bouncing on the balls of her feet. Stanley had already had to still her once in her pacing and Hal was loathed to do it again. But the movement was making him a little seasick. She’d already checked that the water was hot, that the house was as clean as it could be, and that the garden didn’t show any signs of how long the house had been left waiting for a new owner. She had suggested dressing the place up so that it was fit for a celebration, but Tommy’s reminder that it was to be a blank slate for Polly had sated that urge easily enough.

‘Do you ever stop?’ he asked instead, tilting his head a little to one side.

Instantly, Luce’s attention was on him, as if she’d merely been looking for something to hold it. ‘Tell me you don’t want things to be perfect. Tell me Polly doesn’t deserve this,’ she said, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes. Something wasn’t sitting right with her.

Hal didn’t get the chance to press her further before the door was pushed open. Despite knowing that it could only be Tommy and the others, his hand strayed to his gun.

‘Happy birthday!’ Luce said, hurrying to the door, holding it open as Polly and the family streamed in. Polly offered her a small smile but her attention was already straying around the house, taking everything in. Luce didn’t seem rebuffed by the reaction though, merely nodded to the others. Tommy caught Stan’s eye, shot him a small smile before following Polly.

John clapped Hal on the back. ‘Been fun here?’ he asked, a teasing lilt behind his voice as his attention slipped to Luce; to Stan who was standing close to her shoulder, all but towering over her and yet seeming to almost slip into the shadows.

Nonetheless, Hal nudged him. ‘Trust me, you missed out on all the excitable fun.’

‘You said,’ came Polly’s voice, ‘you were gonna buy Ada a house.’

‘Yep, that’s right, I did,’ Tommy told her. ‘Just had a bit of cash left over.’

‘This is ours?’ asked Polly disbelievingly.

‘No, Polly,’ said Tommy patiently, his hands in his pockets. He was quiet for a moment, allowing Polly her time to register just what the house was like; to get a feel for it herself. Hal had to admit it was a lot grander than any of the places he’d seen before. He felt lost in the space, and by the looks of things some of the others did too, despite their attempts at confidence. Only Luce seemed comfortable, moving around with the ease of someone used to too much room. ‘Just yours. Cos you deserve it.’

Polly’s gaze swept the room, fell on Stanley, on Luce; the two who were least likely to lie.

There was a beat before she asked, ‘What would I do with all these rooms?’ She walked towards the coffee table, whatever she had seen in the others’ small smiles had obviously been enough to settle it in her mind that this was real.

Luce looked as though she might have a suggestion, but Hal placed a pacifying hand on her shoulder.

Tommy heaved a sigh. ‘Well, you could, er, relax for one. Come here at weekends.’ He moved to the double doors, indicated outside. ‘It has a garden, eh? You love gardens. You can grow roses, Pol. I dunno, have a piano. Have people round, they can have a singsong, eh?’

‘God help the bloody neighbours!’ said John.

‘Only if you’re joining in,’ teased Hal, his hand falling from Luce’s shoulder.

‘Fuck the neighbours,’ said Arthur, a grin on his face as he dropped the key from his palm, dangled it in front of Polly. ‘Welcome home, Pol.’

Polly took the key, but Hal could see the toll all of this was taking on her. Her eyes shone as she sank onto the sofa. In an instant, Luce was beside her. No one stopped her, merely shared affectionate smiles.

‘Arthur,’ said Tommy after a moment, ‘why don’t you take the boys outside, wait by the car.’

Arthur cleared his throat as the others moved, bobbing his head ever so slightly.

Luce patted Polly on the back gently, moved to stand.

‘Stay here,’ Tommy said, his voice soft but the order barely hidden.

Stan’s attention snapped to his brother, skimmed to his friend as Luce settled back, her eyes focused curiously on Tommy. If she was scared, she certainly didn’t show it. Her shoulders were tensed but she tilted her chin up a little.

‘Come on,’ murmured Hal, patting Stanley gently on the shoulder, guiding the younger man out of the room, ‘she’ll be fine.’ And for once he honestly thought she might. After all, she’d survived a childhood in London with Sabini and Solomons wreaking havoc on the city. He was only now beginning to realise just what kind of person that truly made her; that the flickers of a strong young woman they’d seen in recent years was more of who she was than the scared young girl that he’d watched over in the Garrison years before.

The thought, oddly, made him feel proud of her, even as he manoeuvred Stanley away from his friend and back outside.

***

Luce didn’t watch as the others left, knew that that would only make things worse. Despite her attempts at looking calm there was something unsettling about being left in the room with Polly and Tommy. Alone she could cope, only one possible threat to watch out for – not that she often saw that side of Polly. But together? Dread unfurled slowly in her chest; dug its claws in so it was difficult to shake.

They visibly relaxed as the others left them alone, removed their hats as something to do in the silence that followed. But Luce wasn’t so easily put at ease. She might have been sitting back in the chair, but she would be ready to bolt at the slightest hint of necessity. 

Tommy cleared his throat. ‘Pol, I know you haven’t been happy for a while,’ he said, lighting up a cigarette. He moved to hand it to Polly, and she took it uncertainly. ‘And I know why.’

For a moment, Polly’s attention shifted to Luce, almost accusingly. But Luce furrowed her brow as Tommy moved a chair to sit opposite them. Her own bafflement was apparently all Polly needed for the look to soften.

‘Esme is all right, you know?’ he said as he settled. ‘She’s got a good heart, she has. I’ve spoken to her and she told me.’ He lit his own cigarette, his attention never once straying from his aunt. 

‘Told you what?’ asked Polly, voice carefully even.

‘She told me what it is would make you happy. I’ve spoken to our contacts in the police. They have contacts in the council, and they have contacts with the people who keep the parish records.’

Luce’s heart thundered in her chest. She could see where this was going. For once, maybe Tommy’s criminal empire might actually be put to good use. She shivered at the thought, tried not to get her hopes up for Polly’s sake. She’d seen the woman broken once over this, she really didn’t have the heart to see that all over again.

‘Records of adoptions and of confidential forced removals. Now, with your permission I’d like to grease a few palms and take a look at the records they never showed you.’

Polly shifted back in her seat, away from her nephew as if she couldn’t begin to hope what he was telling her might be true. That she couldn’t allow herself this moment, this birthday wish come true. She glanced briefly to Luce, but Luce only caught it out the periphery of her vision. She was watching Tommy, still trying to figure out why on earth she was sitting in on this meeting. Was she once again a witness to the promise? Or was this another manipulation? Another way of him trying to get her to go to London, to speak with Sabini.

‘Pol, I am going to find your son and daughter and I’m gonna bring ‘em home,’ he vowed. ‘That’s what this house is for. So that you can bring your family home where they belong.’

Polly was silent for a long while. Eventually, she shifted forwards, took one of Tommy’s hands in hers.

‘We’re moving up, Pol,’ he said earnestly.

She smiled sadly, tears glistening in her eyes, before she settled back in the seat.

Tommy watched her for a moment before nodding ever so slightly. He glanced to Luce. ‘I want you to help. You know some of the surrounding places better than half of us. And you know what it’s like to be away from family at a young age.’

Luce barely bit back the comment of noting that big bad Tommy Shelby turning up unannounced might be slightly disconcerting to some, even if they didn’t know his reputation. For once, he wasn’t going to go in all guns blazing. He was trying to soften the blow. He wasn’t going to let anything he did ruin this for Polly, and for that she was unexpectedly grateful. 

Instead of voicing the comment she straightened, met his eye and held it for a second. ‘It’d be an honour,’ she said.

Polly reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She shot the older woman a small smile, really hoping that Mrs Price had been wrong about her daughter, hoping that Tommy might just be able to bring both of his cousins back; even if only for Polly’s own peace of mind.

*

It was strange, sitting in the car beside Thomas Shelby, but Luce tried not to let it get to her. The silence between them was welcome. She’d had enough of his questions about London, about him trying to find out what she knew. At least he hadn’t blamed Sabini’s retribution on her, which was a small blessing. Then again, perhaps his wrath was waiting to be unleashed. Waiting for –

She shook her head, tapped idly on the side of the car, trying to distract her thoughts. It didn’t do well to dwell on things like that. Not when there was a pretty village rolling passed the window. Idyllic houses slid by, a place with no smoke clinging to the air. No constant barrage of noise. She’d been here once before, on a solo adventure just to get out of the city after things had started spiralling out of control. Still, the sight of the village took her breath away.

‘Why did you ask me to come, Tommy?’ she asked, unable to keep the question to herself any longer. It was easier to ask when not looking directly at him, when he had to focus on the road and not her.

‘Pol likes you,’ he said simply. ‘And despite everything you looked like you could do with the adventure.’

She scoffed at that, turned to look at him. 

He glanced briefly at her before focusing back on the road. ‘And if anyone knows how to calm a kid that doesn’t know what’s going on, it’s probably you.’

‘Ah,’ she said, idly playing with a loose strand of hair. ‘There we have it. Thomas Shelby can calm a horse in less than twenty seconds, but not a teenager. His own cousin, no less.’

The jibe, apparently, fell within the boundaries of what she could get away with. The ghost of a smile flickered across his lips.

‘Nor the family that took him in.’ There was a slight strain behind his voice. He wasn’t used to admitting things he couldn’t do. Perhaps, in the smallest of ways, his run-in with Sabini hadn’t –

Luce tugged at her strand of hair a little, refusing to let herself think that. No matter how bad Tommy was, Sabini hadn’t needed to retaliate by beating him nearly to death. A fate that he’d only been saved from because of the police; not that anyone seemed entirely grateful for that fact.

Tommy eased the car to a stop at the end of a road which led to a single house on the edge of the village. In an instant, Luce was out, her attention skimming the place, taking it all in. It was like something out of a storybook.

‘Come on, let’s go inside,’ she heard someone say as Tommy nodded down the dirt track ahead of them. She didn’t need telling twice. 

As they walked she spotted two figures in the field opposite the house. 

‘Here, pass the ball!’ The one at the back held up his arms. 

The smaller figure didn’t oblige, just kept running to the fence. Only when they reached it did they drop the ball, kick it under. The taller figure jumped the fence with practiced ease.

‘Come on in, boys,’ came a woman’s voice, and reluctantly Luce turned her attention to the house. ‘Did you have a good game?’

‘You doing the talking?’ Luce asked in a low voice, more to calm her nerves than anything else.

Surprisingly, Tommy shook his head. ‘You start.’

Luce looked at him baffled, but there was no time for that. She heard the woman’s voice more clearly now, knew that if she messed this up then it was Polly who would get hurt.

So, she sucked in a deep breath, plastered a smile to her face, and quickened her step.

‘Mrs Johnson?’ she said, catching the woman’s attention in an instant.

‘Yes. Who are you?’ Mrs Johnson asked, her gaze skimming between the both of them.

‘We’re from Birmingham Council,’ Luce lied easily, the thrill of the adventure forming the words before she could stop them. ‘Bordesley parish.’

‘No one wrote to me. What d’you want?’ Mrs Johnson asked, defensive in an instant. Her hand lingered on the gate, ready to shut it if she needed to. Ready to protect her family from the strangers.

‘We’d like to talk about your son, about Henry.’

‘Can we come in?’ asked Tommy, and Luce had to fight the urge to tense; she heard the mild threat behind his voice, doubted that the woman had though. She glanced briefly over her shoulder. His expression was completely blank, somehow that was worse that if she’d seen unbridled irritation there; irritation at the fact that he wasn’t simply getting his own way. The name Tommy Shelby possibly meant very little around here, but Luce couldn’t see that being the truth for much longer if he kept this up.

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ said Mrs Johnson, flustered. ‘He doesn’t like to talk about this.’

‘I understand,’ said Luce soothingly.

‘So what does Henry know about his real identity, Mrs Johnson?’ asked Tommy, and Luce barely suppressed a groan. Of course he hadn’t meant for her to actually soften the blow. He was Tommy Shelby, that would have been too much like letting go of control.

‘I only deal with Mr. Ross from the agency and he only ever writes, so… Why’re you here in person?’ Her attention skimmed between the two of them once more. Luce could practically feel the desire to run coming from the woman. To slam the gate and shut them out for good.

Not that a mere wooden gate would stop Thomas Shelby from seeing this through.

‘Henry’s approaching his eighteenth birthday,’ Luce said softly, hoping that this time Tommy might actually keep his mouth shut, that she might be able to prevent him from going all…  _ Tommy  _ on this. ‘The council thought –’

‘This isn’t right!’ The desperation behind the woman’s voice broke Luce’s heart. But, she’d seen the toll losing the boy had had on Polly. It was wrong, to liken one to the other, but Luce couldn’t help it. ‘You’re not from the council, something – something isn’t right.’

Tommy cleared his throat. ‘What does he know, Mrs Johnson?’ he insisted.

The woman’s resolve firmed; a look of disdain settled on her previously kindly features. ‘He knows his mother couldn’t cope. She drank too much, she used opium… she used to beat him.’

Outrage unfurled in Luce’s chest; even a slight niggle of doubt did nothing to douse it.

‘But that isn’t the truth, is it?’ asked Tommy evenly.

‘Look, I think you should come back when my husband’s here,’ said Mrs Johnson shortly.

‘Does he know what his real name is?’

‘His real name,’ the woman practically spat at Tommy, ‘is Johnson, Henry Johnson, now I would like you to go away and come back when my husband’s here.’

Luce tensed as she spotted the boy marching back down the garden path. He’d been idling on the doorstep for the conversation, but obviously hearing the note of distress behind Mrs Johnson’s voice had been too much of a call.

‘The truth is he was taken from his mother without her permission,’ said Tommy, as if none of it really mattered.

‘Henry, go back inside, please,’ the woman said, looking back at him. Fear coloured the edges of her voice.

Luce glanced momentarily back to Tommy, but he was looking steadily at his cousin.

‘Who are you?’ the boy asked shortly.

‘Please, Henry, go on!’

‘Your real name is Michael Gray,’ Tommy said simply.

‘No!’

‘Your real mother wants to see ya,’ said Tommy, reaching into his pocket and taking out the paper he’d carefully written on earlier. ‘Her address is on the back of this card.’

He moved to hand the note over, but Mrs Johnson started batting his hand away, hitting his chest as if it might somehow stop all this.

‘She just wants to talk,’ Luce said softly, trying for a smile. Part of her felt bad for ripping the semblance of normality away from the boy. But didn’t Polly deserve something good?

‘Go away.’

‘She just wants to talk,’ Tommy reiterated.

‘Go away and leave us alone. Go away!’ Mrs Johnson spat.

Tommy gently took Luce’s elbow, guided her away from the house before she could try pleading Polly’s case. She glanced briefly over her shoulder at the two of them. Mrs Johnson held onto the boy as if it might stop the curiosity. But Luce had seen it. She’d seen the flicker of questioning behind his eyes before they’d moved away.

She just hoped that they’d done the right thing, for both of them, telling him his name and passing on Polly’s invitation.

***

Hal watched as Cecily flitted around her motorbike. Before the War her thoughts on motorised vehicles could have been written on the back of a postage stamp. Now he didn’t think he’d seen her without some kind of oil marking her skin, couldn’t remember a time her eye wasn’t drawn to a car or bike as she murmured the different things about it under her breath. But there was something spectacular about seeing her with this bike.  _ Her  _ bike. She was in her own little world, the occasional conversation with herself whispered in Welsh.

‘Will you quit your gawking?’ she asked, not bothering to look at him. ‘You could at least help pump up a tire or something.’

‘Does one need looking at?’ he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

She huffed. ‘No, but the point stands.’

‘Course it does.’

She peeped up from behind the bike and shot him a look filled with scorn. A look that was, he thought, somewhat undermined by the excitement brightening her eyes.

The look, however, only lasted a moment. It quickly turned sour, and in an instant Hal’s hackles raised. He turned quickly, one hand hovering by his pistol, the other ready to grab the back of his cap so he could wield that too.

‘Tommy,’ he breathed as he spotted the other man. No matter how irritable he looked, no matter the fact that every inch of his stature showed he was about ready to bite someone’s head off, there was great relief in it being Thomas Shelby instead of someone else that was breaking apart the moment with Cece.

‘Can I have a word?’ asked Tommy, though there was little room for argument behind his voice.

Cece murmured something in Welsh; despite the lilting way she spoke, Hal had the distinct impression it was a curse.

Any other time, Hal might had asked for a second. He might have told Tommy to give him five minutes and he’d meet him at the Garrison. But the Garrison was no longer a meeting place, and there was something about the tense line of Tommy’s shoulders that assured him this was important.

So, he glanced over his shoulder. ‘I’ll be back,’ he vowed to Cecily.

Her only reply was to shrug as if it was no consequence to her, and then she ducked back behind the bike.

Hal sighed. He was going to have to apologise for this properly at some point.

Without another word he followed Tommy down the street a little way, allowed his friend the quiet as he lit up a cigarette, as he took a long drag and let the smoke swirl in the air ahead of them. Something told Hal this wasn’t family business. Not in the usual sense at the very least.

‘What’s happened?’ Hal asked softly.

‘Arthur lost control,’ admitted Tommy, his voice so low that even Hal had difficulty catching the words. Around them, people were going about daily life, yelling happily to each other; stallholders called to try and drum up business. ‘I need you to keep an eye on him.’

‘You think he might…?’ Hal didn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t.

Tommy nodded ever so slightly.

‘Fuck,’ cursed Hal, removing his cap and running a hand through his hair.

Tommy clasped his shoulder, squeezed it hard. ‘He’ll be all right. I just –’

‘I’m on it,’ Hal vowed understandingly, firmly putting his cap back on and glancing over at Cece. ‘See you at the Garrison!’

‘You better,’ she called back, but he was already hurrying to make sure that his friend was all right.

***

Stan fiddled nervously with his hat. It still felt too weighted with the razors in the peak, but he hadn’t had the heart to pull them out yet. They were a promise, of sorts, from his brothers. A reminder that they were never too far. They were a threat to anyone who tried to harm him, a message. But he wasn’t really thinking about that now. Instead, his thoughts were on the Garrison, on the fact that Tommy had handed him the keys to the rooms without a word. A silent vow that this was his moment.

Luce was working on one of the ropes. A large barge seemed to dwarf her, but she was unfazed. In fact, she was in her element, clambering over things to get where she needed to be, to make sure everything was perfect. If she wasn’t careful she’d be there all night, working by candlelight until it was done. She’d miss out on the opening, on the fact that she no longer had to bunk in the spare room.

‘You gonna stand around all day, Shelby?’ she called, the teasing lilt to her voice brought him out of his stupor easily.

A smile spread quickly across his face. ‘You know, I was thinking on it. I thought –’

‘Where is he, Lucinda?’

Polly’s voice was harsh. In an instant, Stanley had rounded on his aunt. She was stalking towards them both, a gun trembled in her hand.

‘Aunt Pol!’ he said, fear coursed through him. Blood roared in his ears.

‘I don’t know –’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ said Polly, her voice brittle with anger. ‘Tommy took you with him. You know the address, or how to get there. Tell. Me. Where. Michael. Is.’

Stan dare not take his eyes off her, and yet he wanted to make sure that Luce was safe. Wanted to ensure that she’d protected herself somehow. Wanted to make sure that he hadn’t actually missed a shot.

Luce heaved a deep sigh. ‘I don’t know the address, Polly,’ she said softly, earnestly. ‘You know how Tommy is.’

‘Well take me there then,’ insisted Polly, a hint of hysteria behind her voice.

Something dropped lightly behind Stan, and instinctively he turned. Luce was standing on the deck, her hands raised ever so slightly, attention trained on Polly. Fear burnt brightly behind her eyes and yet her every movement seemed to be fighting that very emotion.

‘I can’t do that, Polly,’ she said, voice filled with regret, with pain. ‘He knows where to find you though.’

Polly’s hand shook, and for a moment Stanley was terrified that she might just accidentally fire the gun. That she might lose a bullet and injure either of them. His heart thundered against his chest. How Luce was thinking straight was beyond him. How she was even speaking was another thing entirely.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. The tension that rose to Polly’s shoulders assured Stanley the danger had passed though. Her thoughts were no longer on threats but on the mild promise behind Luce’s voice. ‘It was the best we could do without completely scaring him off.’

‘We’re his family,’ said Polly, distress obvious.

Stan didn’t think, he merely moved. He gently took the gun from Polly’s hand and pulled her in for a hug. She struggled, but the gestures were more a show than anything else. He held firm, gently rubbed her back.

‘He’ll come when he’s ready,’ he said softly, really hoping that Michael would either come to stay or keep away entirely so as not to break Polly’s heart all over again.

‘She’s not going to give up, is she?’ asked Luce as they walked towards the Garrison. Despite her idle questions her attention was trained on the pub. Stanley knew that she was taking the sight in, that she was trying to consign it all to memory again, to rid herself of the horrors that had previously sat where her home was.

‘Perhaps we should tell Ada,’ mused Stan, his thoughts only half on the conversation at hand. He wanted to focus but he didn’t have it in him at the moment. Right now he wanted to think about Luce, about what having her new rooms would mean. He’d see Polly soon enough, check in with her.

‘Yes!’ said Luce, her attention still not shifting from the pub. ‘Polly’ll listen to her, more than anyone. Even…  _ Especially  _ Tommy.’

Stan scoffed, gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Her fingers were rougher than when they’d first met, with the constant work. It was an odd thing to realise, but it was something that had worried him initially. He’d been scared that she was going to break. If anything, she’d got stronger with it all; the callouses on her hands were an odd reminder of that. 

‘Now, enough Shelby business,’ he said, earning a small smile from her.

‘You do know that your family own this place, right?’ The teasing lilt behind her voice was obvious, and yet anticipation crept in behind her words. They were going to be the first to see the refurbished place. Not that that was the main reason they were there.

Not by a long shot.

Stan waved away her words. ‘But the room is yours, remember?’

A bright smile flitted easily into place on her face, and Stan couldn’t help but mirror it.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, using her other hand to shift her bag strap up her shoulder.

‘Don’t,’ he murmured, shaking his head. He was grateful that she hadn’t run away, especially after everything else. Grateful that she was still there for him, no matter what else seemed to be happening around them.

***

Arthur sat by the fire, took a drink of the whiskey he’d poured himself. Hal watched, not quite sure what to do. Anger he could cope with; rages that dealt with things were easy. He could make sure Arthur didn't hurt anyone, give him the fight he so desperately needed to expel that kind of emotion the only way Arthur knew how. But melancholy? That wasn’t so easy. He’d tried, truly he had, but his thoughts kept drifting back to…

He refused to think on that, and the sound of the door opening and closing was a blessing. He was up in an instant, but his tension slipped away as soon as he saw the gangly figure.

‘Finn,’ he sighed.

The younger boy nodded slightly, opened his mouth to say something, but Arthur beat him to it.

‘Go away,’ he said in a low voice.

‘What’s wrong?’ Finn glanced briefly at Hal, but he shook his head ever so slightly. This was Arthur’s thing to tell. ‘Why ain’t he ready?’

‘For what?’ asked Arthur, glaring between the two of them. A flicker of anger sparked behind his eyes but it faded fast.

‘The Garrison,’ said Finn simply. ‘The reopening of  _ your _ pub. It’s tonight.’

‘I told him already,’ Hal said softly. He’d been trying to enthuse the man about the reopening all afternoon, but nothing had worked. His friend had kept spiralling back to everything that had happened. Kept slipping somewhere Hal didn’t know how to pull him back from, and he certainly couldn’t follow.

Once again, Arthur fell back on old excuses. ‘Tommy don’t want me there.’

‘It was Tommy who told me to get you,’ Finn insisted.

‘Probably meant Hal.’

‘The guy who doesn’t drink?’ Hal’s voice was slightly sharper than he’d meant it to be, but it caught Arthur’s attention, held it for a breath longer than anything else.

Finn let out a small sigh. ‘He says it’s your name above that door, so you’ve got to be there.’

‘No,’ said Arthur simply. ‘No, look at me. I’m staying away. Go away. Get out. Both of ya.’

Hal heaved a breath, but Finn caught his eye. In the past two years a lot had changed. Somehow, Finn was more grown up than Hal could have imagined. He clapped his brother on the shoulder before catching Hal’s eye.

‘Cece’s already there, Tommy said. You might want to go save Scudboat from a punch to the throat.’

Hal scoffed, but nodded. He understood, knew that Finn wanted to handle this alone. He wasn’t going to refuse the kid the chance to help his brother, so he shifted to pat Arthur on the shoulder.

‘See you in a bit,’ he said, before stalking away, ignoring the mumbled complaint from Arthur.

***

‘Ada!’ Luce’s voice was filled with excitement. One moment she’d been talking to Stan, her eyes lit with the brightness he only ever saw when she was surrounded by people, the next her attention was distracted. She hurried over to the door, pulled his sister in for a hug that enveloped Karl as well.

Stanley chuckled softly as he walked over to join them, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He offered it out to Ada. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he greeted, shifting to kiss her on the cheek, hugging her and Karl.

‘You too,’ she said, the smile reached her eyes, something that he hadn’t seen for a while.

‘Ada!’ came Aunt Pol’s voice. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’ She walked over to embrace Ada too.

‘There’s Aunt Polly,’ said Ada to Karl. ‘Hey, who’s that?’

Stanley turned to see Esme, she grinned as she took Karl easily and Stan got the strange feeling that all of this had been orchestrated. It was too neat, too almost dance-like the way people were toing and froing. ‘D’you want a cuddle?’

‘Oh, Ada, why don’t you think about coming home?’ asked Polly, her voice soft.

‘Hello, Ada,’ greeted Tommy before she could answer.

Polly didn’t wait, she merely walked off before Tommy had even reached them. Luce gently squeezed Stan’s hand, an assurance that things would be all right. One that he didn’t realise he’d needed until then.

‘Come on,’ she said, glancing between his siblings, ‘dance with me.’

‘What?’ he asked, baffled but allowing himself to be pulled away. ‘There’s nowhere –’

‘Poppycock.’

Stanley scoffed as she shifted to sway with him, in time with the music without really thinking about it. A couple of people around them shifted aside, obviously recognising him and quelling any mildly irritable looks in an instant. Or, they were spotting the fiery hair and not wanting to get stepped on as was quite likely to happen. ‘No one really says that.’

‘I just did,’ she teased, smirking as she tapped out the beat on his hand. ‘D’you think there’ll be more music?’

Stanley stumbled slightly but somehow she caught him, made it look as though it were all part of the dance. ‘If you ask Arthur nice like.’

‘And make sure the place ain’t too unkempt in the morning,’ she said, but the smirk never once left her lips.

‘You still gonna do that?’

‘Course,’ she said simply, her smile widening as Polly and some young man joined them. Stanley felt a flush rushing up his cheeks at the sight, but he didn’t know why.

Luce walked along the curb, arms out to balance herself but attention on the sky. Stan was a little behind her; despite knowing that there wasn’t far for her to fall, despite knowing that she did far more dangerous things at the yard he still felt the need to make sure that she was all right now. For some reason she’d wanted to get out of the pub, wanted to see the stars. It was as if the fear she’d found in the dark was finally easing a little, as if the shell of the Garrison had finally assured her of something like nothing else could.

They walked in amicable silence, each lost in their own worlds. Stan’s thoughts kept slipping back to Polly, to the way her eyes had shone with the thought of her son. Kept straying back to the smile he’d seen on Hal’s face, even as Cece practically pried him away from the table to dance; John’s teasing comments following them before he himself was dragged to dance. He’d never seen his family look so happy since the War. It warmed his heart to think that they could have all of it again.

‘Excuse me?’ a voice snapped his attention back to the present with an uncomfortable bang. A young man stood on Polly’s doorstep, he worried a hat between his hands. His curious gaze shifted to Luce. ‘You work for the council.’

Luce’s arms fell quickly to her sides. Even in the dim light of the night, Stan saw a dark flush colouring the side of her face. ‘I, um…’ She heaved a deep sigh, fiddled nervously with a strand of hair. ‘That might have been a lie. But your mother really does live here,’ she added quickly.

‘Michael?’ asked Stan, his brain finally catching up with everything that was happening.

The other boy started shaking his head, but stopped. In the end, he offered them little more than a shrug. ‘Do you know where Elizabeth Gray is?’

Luce shot Stanley a look, one which assured him she would follow his lead. After all, this was his family. His choice.

‘I doubt you’ll be able to speak to her tonight,’ he admitted, not letting his thoughts stray to the look that had been behind her eyes, the fact that she had been dancing so close to that man; it was something he refused to dwell on. ‘Try in the morning.’

‘There’s a hotel down the road,’ said Luce brightly, pointing in the direction. ‘We can show you…’

Michael was already shaking his head, looking a little uneasy. ‘I’ll find it, thanks,’ he said, shooting them a small smile before heading off in that direction. He only looked back once, his eyes skimming the house, never once resting on them.

‘Was that really him?’ Stanley asked in a small voice.

Luce nodded ever so slightly, her attention following Michael as if to make sure that he got to the hotel safely. ‘Let her have tonight,’ she said softly. ‘We’ll tell her in the morning.’

‘All right,’ Stan said, reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, glad that she understood his thoughts on the matter, and seemed to agree with them without even needing to ask. ‘Come on, the Garrison awaits.’


	3. Chapter Three: Surprise Reunions

Hal watched the sun streaming in through the barely open curtain, felt a small smile on his face as he shifted the crown of his head on the crook of his arm. The others were all busy interviewing people to be stood up, trying to make things a little easier on the business as a whole. But not him. Cece had a rare day off and Hal was damned if he was going to miss that. John had, obviously, fought his corner. Even if that meant joking that the sooner someone made an honest man out of him, the better.

The memory of the jibe made Hal’s smile deepen. Time and time again he’d thought about proposing. Thought about what life might be like even if he never properly admitted it to Cece. But deep down he was terrified. Terrified of what might happen to Cece if people knew more about their relationship.

His smile slipped as another thought clawed its way to the forefront of his mind, the thing that always soured his dreams on the matter: what if he became like his father?

Unable to dismiss the thought, Hal got out of bed quickly. He tried not to disturb Cece, but she was up in an instant. Eyes slightly foggy with sleep, hair rumpled, but already trying to figure out what had made him move so fast.

‘Sorry,’ he murmured, bending to place a quick kiss on her forehead. He stroked the back of her head gently. ‘Go back to sleep, love.’

Something about his tone must have betrayed his previous misgivings. Her blue eyes cleared in an instant, a familiar steel of determination burnt brightly behind them. She was going to find out what was bothering him if he wanted to share or not.

With a deep sigh, Hal sank back onto the bed. He heard her shifting before he felt her delicate hand on his back, her thumb rubbing small circles against his shoulder blade, careful not to trace a scar that he’d rather not think about.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked softly, resting her chin on his other shoulder.

‘Are we doomed to make the same mistakes as our parents?’ he asked, seeing no point in beating around the bush. Eventually he’d admit it, unable to keep it hidden from her forever; he may as well tell her straight out.

She stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away.

‘You are _not_ your father, Henry,’ she said, the use of full name caused him to shrink slightly. ‘You’re a good man. You –’

‘Am I?’ he asked, grateful that she couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t see the anguish he was feeling.

Cecily shifted her hand on his shoulder, grip slightly firmer. She used her other hand to tilt his face towards her, moved to be in his eye line. She searched his eyes for something and he found that he couldn’t look away, no matter how much he might have wanted to. Part of him wanted her to console him, to help find the right words that would soothe everything. But part of him didn’t feel as though he deserved that; wanted to shrink away from even the slightest hint of it.

‘Yes,’ she told him firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. ‘You’re violent, I’ll admit to that. But I have never seen your anger turned on someone you care about.’ She was quiet for a moment, her attention slipped away from him ever so slightly. ‘People you love.’

Hal’s heart stuttered in his chest. He reached instinctively for her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze, drawing her attention back to him.

‘What would I do without you?’ he murmured, leaning in to kiss her.

‘I honestly have no idea,’ she teased against his lips, and once again he had the overwhelming urge to do something, to actually propose to her.

He just needed a little help to make sure everything was perfect, and the time to make sure absolutely nothing could spoil it.

***

‘So, you have a cousin,’ came Luce’s voice from behind the boat, almost startling Stanley from his checking of Divine Star. The horse had come back from the race with something of a limp. Tommy had insisted that he check it over, even though Curly had been hovering around, eager to help just as much. But this was Tommy’s way of proving they were truly legitimate. His promise to Stan, one he was refusing to give up on even with the proposed expansion south that felt like a hound breathing down his neck.

‘I have a cousin,’ Stanley agreed, carefully running his hand over the mare’s stifle, easing the ache out of the muscle that he thought might be causing a little of the problem. He still wasn’t certain about the arrival of the other boy. Yes, he was glad that Polly had her son back, and yes he could still remember the two of them playing horse on the streets, encouraging the others to at least try and get involved. But a lot had changed in that time. ‘What’d you think of him?’

He heard Luce sigh and glanced over the back of Divine Star. She poked her head around the end of the canal boat. There was a black streak of paint down one cheek; her skin was reddening already from the midday sun. He arched an eyebrow at her.

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted, using the back of her hand to push a few flyaway strands of hair from her forehead. ‘He seems all right.’ She offered a half shrug before ducking back behind the boat. ‘As long as Polly’s happy, what does it matter what I think about him?’

Stan scoffed ever so slightly, rested his forehead against the horse. He hoped that Polly would be happy now, even if there was no way of bringing Anna back. God knew that she deserved some good back in her life. He just had to hope that his brothers didn’t end up dragging the poor boy into some of their schemes. Not that he could see Polly allowing it at all. Perhaps Michael could help him with the horses or something, keep as far away from it all as possible. After all, it was working reasonably well for Stan himself – even if he was now officially a shareholder in the business, one of Tommy’s birthday presents for him.

‘Did you bring lunch?’ he asked, moving away from Divine Star and wiping his hands forcefully down his trousers.

Luce groaned. ‘I thought it was your turn!’ she protested, not turning away from her work though.

He chuckled softly, moved to wave the bags of food at her. ‘It was,’ he teased, grinning as she cursed at him bitterly, but he knew there was no real anger behind the reaction. It was just another day at the yard, one that he was more than grateful for.

***

Wilf watched carefully as Sabini flipped through the newspaper. Despite the pretence of calm he could see the tension in the man’s shoulders, could see that he was still trying to puzzle out what to do with the information Francisco Alfonsi had brought to him: Thomas Shelby was officially bringing people to Alfie Solomons.

Francisco said something in hurried Italian that Wilf couldn’t even begin to understand. For a moment he longed for the familiar grinning brown-haired boy who had befriended his sister. But then, if Sy had still been there then Luce wouldn’t be gone, and he wouldn’t be privy to this conversation at all. So he simply stood there, hands clasped behind his back in the hopes that they wouldn’t see them shaking. That they wouldn’t see the cracks he could once again feel forming in his usual attempts at indifference.

Two words he did understand though, and even if they hadn’t glanced at him he would have known that they were talking about Cinder: _piccola rossa_.

Wilf swallowed hard, continued looking straight ahead in the hopes that he wouldn’t betray himself.

‘Your sister still hasn’t come home,’ baited Sabini. ‘Even though her new Gypsy friends are here.’

‘Perhaps she is scared,’ sneered Francisco.

Sabini waved a dismissive hand. ‘She has nothing to fear. Isn’t that right, Wilfred?’

Wilf shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. He still couldn’t quite believe that his sister had got herself mixed up in all of this. Was this really the kind of adventure she’d been longing for?

‘Maybe we need to set a better trap than letting them take the reins on this,’ mused Francisco.

A nerve twitched in Sabini’s eyelid, but he didn’t make a move. For all his violent rages they rarely turned on his closest friend. Apparently, even less so following the death of his son. Or at least, those were the whispers that Wilf had overheard during more mundane duties with the gang; when he was acting as a bouncer or enforcer. When he constantly wondered how much longer they were going to keep him chained to this part of the country, preventing him from saving his sister from the horrors of another gang. Of protecting her from a gang war she was more than likely to fall in the middle of.

‘Not yet,’ Sabini muttered, his eyes honed in on Wilf, who slowly met the gaze with cool indifference. ‘If Thomas Shelby isn’t dead by the end of the week, you can go and make sure Georgie is handling this with the proper care that it requires. _Only_ to bring back _piccola rossa_.’

Wilf felt the flush of anger rushing up to his ears, but he nodded his head in something almost resembling a bow. Three days until the end of the week, that wasn’t long. But Sabini probably had faith that his man would have carried out the job well before then.

For once, he really hoped that the Sabini gang weren’t as good at their job as he knew them to be. And even more grateful that Francisco wasn’t dispatching of the man himself; if it was left to Francisco they’d get no information before the death blow was dealt.

Three days. That wasn’t really long if he thought about it, and Wilf had learnt patience at the hands of men far worse than Darby Sabini.

***

Luce was slowly getting used to the new bustle of the boatyard. People called to each other all the time; ruckus laughter filled the usually quiet space as people wandered back and forth, doing jobs that she knew better than to dwell on. Stan had assured her that it was all legal, that what they were doing had been bought and was being shipped above board. The comments, however, were for his own peace of mind more than her own. They were words that Tommy had told him to placate his fears, words meant to stop him worrying about the gang war happening down in London. A war that she couldn’t forget about, no matter how hard she tried.

With a sigh, she shifted from crouching to sitting on her haunches. The old interior of the steam canal boat was dusty but that wasn’t her focus for the day. Today she was working on why the fire wasn’t burning. Why, within about five minutes of someone stoking the coals, it went out. Charlie had given her the job as a way to keep her out of the way, she knew that, but it was one of the jobs she’d enjoyed most when her father taught her and Wilf about boats.

She shook the memory from her thoughts. If she lingered –

‘Lucinda?’ Tommy’s voice was curiously light and that put her on edge more than anything else could have. ‘Charlie said you were working on this one. You haven’t run off to open more crates you shouldn’t, have you?’

Luce rolled her eyes at the reminder. _One time_ , she thought bitterly. Not that the urge hadn’t arisen since; not that her curiosity hadn’t made her nearly privy to more information that was best left within the family. But Thomas Shelby was getting better at keeping those kinds of things away from prying eyes and curiosity.

‘Engine room,’ she called, rubbing her forehead against her arm and standing up. Even after two years of dealing with Tommy, she still refused to be completely at ease when she spoke to him.

She waited for a moment, until she heard the sounds of his footsteps on the stairs, before she finally turned to face the door. He cut an almost imposing figure in the doorway and she had to bite back concern at the fact he was blocking the only exit.

She mentally cursed herself. _Should have gone to meet him._

‘Charlie says you’re picking it up fast,’ he said, indicating to the engine with his lit cigarette.

‘I’m a quick learner,’ she said, trying to figure out what this was about, knowing that deep down he was going to try getting information about London. Information that she simply didn’t have.

He took a pensive drag of his cigarette, let the smoke swirl away from him before he finally spoke. ‘Mr. Solomons now has more men working in his bakery for when the time is right,’ he said, all fact and no emotion behind the words.

Still, Luce had to look away from him. She busied herself with trying to get some of the dirt off her hands. She didn’t care about the stupid gang war, the logistics of it at least. She just wanted to know when someone had stopped Sabini’s reign. She’d done her bit, however small it might have been, in toppling him. If they were going to cut the rot that had forced her best friend out of the country, off to his death, she only wanted to know when the wounds could start healing.

Perhaps then the ghosts might just let her go home.

‘But we have no way of knowing when Sabini will try something.’

‘I’ve already told you –’ Luce started to snap, but Tommy looked at her sharply and the words died in her throat. Two years, and still she could remember him faking Danny’s death; the sheep’s brains splattered on his face, the blank expression he’d worn.

‘I’m not here about Sabini,’ he said simply, before taking another pensive puff of his cigarette. ‘I’m here about Ada.’

‘Has something happened?’ Luce asked, panic instantly washing away everything else.

But she quickly took a breath. Tommy wouldn’t be talking to her if something had happened to his sister. That, in itself, was a small comfort.

‘I want Ada,’ he said, his accent somehow thicker as he carefully enunciated each word, ‘to look for property. But it would be really useful if she had someone who knew the streets. Who knew areas that were good, and where to avoid.’

Silence settled between them. There was no need for him to voice the real question, no reason for him to waste his time verbalising the thing that they both knew it meant.

‘No,’ Luce said without thinking. Her fear of returning home was deeper than her fear of Thomas Shelby. It didn’t completely diminish her fear of the man, far from it, but her voice was somehow stronger than she’d been expecting. She hastily looked away from him, unable to watch for the emotions he was carefully keeping in check. ‘I won’t go back there.’ She ran her finger around the seal of the doorway, trying to focus her thoughts on the boat, on what she was going to do there.

‘You’d be with Peaky Blinders, Luce,’ he said, voice soft and somehow all the more terrifying for it. ‘No one would –’

‘Until you wanted more information,’ she said, a note of cold steel behind the words. Still she didn’t look at him. Her heart thundered against her ribs. Deep down she knew that she shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t provoke the wasps nest. And yet her resolve about travelling to London had held true for so long. How many times had she wanted to sneak back to the city? How many times had fear and desire battled each other? Each time her fear of the ghosts that she’d left behind won out against her longing for her family, for the familiarity of home turf. This was one thing she was completely immovable on. Even to Thomas Shelby.

‘Fine,’ said Tommy, a slight hint of irritation behind his voice the only thing alerting her to the fact he was truly relenting. She looked at him sharply. His eyes were narrowed ever so slightly but she could still see the cogs of his brain whirling, trying to come up with some other scheme. ‘But if you remember anything –’

‘You’ll be the first to know, Mr. Shelby.’

A flicker of a smirk. It had been a long time since she was so formal to him.

‘Good,’ he murmured before turning away. He paused at the bottom of the stairs though. ‘Keep an eye on Stan and Michael. I’m sure Polly will be around soon enough.’ And, with that, he climbed the stairs, leaving Luce to sink back against the grating, to feel the uneven groves against her back.

Just how she had managed to befriend another person with links to gangs she couldn’t quite fathom. But she wouldn’t have dropped Sy for the world, and she wasn’t about to turn her back on Stanley just because of who his family were either.

***

Wilf waited at the edge of the boxing ring. It was taking all his restraint not to run a hand through his hair, to smooth it back because he could see a flicker of blond out the corner of his eye. He was here for one reason, and one reason only: information.

Well, perhaps two. Sabini was testing him, he knew that. Everything was a fucking test with that man, but if it meant getting to Luce he would grit his teeth and bear it.

He watched as Sewell walked over briskly, as he ducked between the ropes. Sabini sat near the other edge, a little ahead of Wilf himself, eating a sandwich and reading the paper as if nothing in the world could bother him.

‘You’ve killed him, huh?’ Sabini asked in lieu of a greeting.

‘As I’ve explained,’ Sewell said, his voice even though there was a flicker of irritation behind it, ‘he’s not easy to get at. He’s got an army round him. But when the time is right…’

Sabini tapped his watch incessantly. ‘The time is right. It’s right now.’ He glanced back at Wilf, who watched him carefully. ‘And it’s not impossible to get people when there are armies around them.’

Wilf balled his hands, felt the ragged edges of his nails digging painfully into his palms as he forced a small smirk onto his face. Kept it there even when Sabini looked back to his own man. Another test. Another prod at the memories to see if he would crack, if perhaps they could do this the way they truly wanted; loyalty to a dead boy the only thing truly preventing them from that course of action. Luce being with the Shelbys was too dangerous for them. Who knew what Sy had told her, what she might be selling off to the little razor gang.

‘When he’s away from his familiar territory, I will take him.’

Sabini huffed, took a bite of his sandwich. ‘So what do you want?’

‘We heard from a guard at Winson Green prison that one of their bookies has just been put inside,’ said Sewell, his hands still firmly behind his back. Ever the soldier, though apparently not as haunted by his memories of those fights as Wilf himself was. Jealousy seemed to cool his skin. ‘Kid called Harold Hancox. We could make a point.’

‘How many bakers is there in Camden Town now?’ asked Sabini, attention on the newspaper. It was a show, but it did well to unsettle.

‘There are a lot of bakers in Camden Town, Mr. Sabini, but, as I have said, we don’t as yet have a definite number,’ he said, voice still even. Too even.

‘Who won the four-fifteen at Chepstow?’

‘Ragman.’

‘Where’s my dry cleaning?’

‘It’s been collected,’ Wilf said, almost lazily. He saw a muscle in the other man’s jaw twitch.

‘Who won the three-fifty at Kempton Park?’

Silence followed Sabini’s question. Wilf shifted his weight off his forearms, straightened so that he was no longer leaning on the ropes.

‘What? You don’t know?’ snapped Sabini.

‘I can find out.’

‘No need. I know already,’ said Sabini, before snapping his fingers.

Wilfred tried not to feel as though he were a dog snapping at the heels of his master for the barest scraps of attention. ‘Crystal Girl.’

‘You see,’ said Sabini, folding the newspaper over, putting his lunch down, ‘the favourites, they’re all winning. And the second favourites are being done. He’s bewitching them.’

‘Bewitching?’

‘Gypsy stuff. Herbs and potions. And he’s tipping off our big punters so they know who’s gonna win. Regular customers betraying us for profit. You think they’d be loyal to us. But profit, you see –’ Sabini passed the newspaper across to Sewell, shook a few crumbs free of his sandwich. Wilf tried not to think about how the Gypsies might have been bewitching his sister. Had she wanted to come home? Had they done something to stop her? ‘… comes before race, creed and family.’

‘Results look normal to me.’

‘You see shit!’ snapped Sabini.

‘Mr. Sabini, if you think they’re planning to fix Northern races, we’ll take no more bets on anything north of Towcester.’

‘I gave you a job already,’ said Sabini simply. ‘Or do I need to hand it over to someone else?’ He tipped his head back towards Wilf ever so slightly. Wilf tried to stand straight, to mirror the other soldier’s stance in the hopes of not giving away his excitement. His hope that he might just be the one to go back to Birmingham this time. Three days were up, after all.

‘And the job will be done. But meantime –’

‘Meantime fuck.’

‘Meantime,’ went on the other man as if Sabini’s outburst hadn’t happened, ‘what do you want us to do about the kid in the cage in Birmingham?’

Sabini wiped his hands, put down his things and calmly walked over to the other man. As soon as he was close enough he knocked the paper aside and grabbed his throat. The man choked, all his calm composure gone in an instant.

‘Why would you want me to say that out loud?’ Sabini asked, walking the slightly taller man backwards. He glanced over his shoulder; his eyes skimmed over Wilf as if he were nothing more than furniture. ‘Is there somebody listening?’

Silence stretched for a moment before Sewell caved. ‘All right, I’ll say it. We’ll kill the Hancox kid and send a message.’ He choked again, held on for a little longer before Sabini finally released the red faced man of his grip.

‘Good, and then you deal with Tommy fucking Shelby.’ He turned to walk back to his seat. ‘You,’ he said, addressing Wilf, ‘stay close to the Gypsy scum in the meantime.’ He sat down as Sewell put his hat back on and moved out of the ring.

Wilf watched him go, hoping that his features were schooled into a look of pure indifference. He would make sure that they didn’t do anything to harm his sister, the Gypsies or the Italians. Even if it meant he could only watch on while waiting for Sewell, he would get to see her. Do everything he could to keep her safe like he always tried so hard to do.

***

‘This had better be good to interrupt my holiday,’ said Polly as she hurried into the room like a mini hurricane.

Hal spared a glance at John, who had followed his aunt in. The whole room was fraught with tension, even if only the brothers and Hal himself knew what was going on. Knew that they needed revenge for what had happened to Harold. He tried not to let his anger at Sabini bubble up too much, tried not to feel the guilt at not having been in the interview. Could he have stopped them using the kid? But he shook the thought free. They would only have found someone else; someone else would have paid for the supposed crimes of the Shelbys. He tried not to think about what might happen if Stan, Luce, or even Michael was the next sacrificed to send a message.

What about Cece?

‘Where’s the boy?’ asked Arthur, snapping Hal’s attention back to the meeting at hand.

‘In the back room with Stan. I only brought him because afterwards we’re going to the museum,’ said Polly as John and Hal finally made their way over to the rest of the meeting.

‘He wanted to come in and say hello but –’

‘Shut up, John. There is nothing of interest to Michael in this room,’ snapped Polly. ‘He and Stan have some catching up to do anyway.’

John blinked, glanced briefly at Hal, but he merely shrugged. John settled himself against the wall, hands in pockets as he watched the family meeting.

‘Now Tommy, get on with it,’ said Polly.

Tommy tapped ash from his cigarette, put the whole thing down and clasped his hands in front of himself. ‘Last night, one of our men had his throat cut in Winson Green. This morning, I had a telegram to say it was Sabini who ordered it.’

‘And it says here that Thomas Shelby’s next,’ spat Arthur, ripping the telegram into pieces.

‘If our men think we can’t look after them in prison,’ said Tommy, ‘they’ll not work for us. Sabini knows that. So we need to get the Green sorted out. Scudboat, you and one of the boys, break a couple of windows get yourselves arrested. I’ll have our coppers get you into the Green and you can find the bastards who did it.’

Hal shifted ever so slightly, but John held a hand out, stopping him from volunteering. He cast his friend a curious glance, but his attention was still on the meeting at hand.

‘Instead of breaking a window, can we pinch a car?’ asked Scudboat, causing a ripple of laughter to run around the room. ‘What? Everybody else is getting a bloody car. I’m still on a donkey.’

‘All right, just get yourselves fucking arrested,’ said Tommy as Polly looked thoroughly annoyed with the whole thing. ‘It doesn’t matter how. And before you all laugh, a boy is dead. He was just a kid.’ The comment sobered the room up quickly. ‘We’ll start a fund for his family, Pol.’

‘Agreed,’ she said simply. ‘So is that it? Can I go now?’ She moved to grab her bag from the table.

‘Well, as company treasurer, I need your permission to spend a-thousand guineas.’

‘On what?’ Polly asked, attention snapping to Tommy.

‘On a horse.’ He didn’t look at her when he spoke.

‘A-thousand guineas on a horse?’ asked Polly incredulously.

Tommy nodded, still looking decidedly away from his aunt. ‘That’s right.’

Polly walked away from him, weighing up what she’d just been told. ‘When was this decided?’

‘You’ve been busy with Michael,’ Tommy said, finally glancing at her.

‘Oh, my God. So, in the absence of common sense, you boys have had an idea,’ she said, glancing briefly to Hal as if he were meant to stop them from coming up with something like this.

‘Polly, there’s a thoroughbred quarter-Arab filly up for auction at the Doncaster Blood Stock,’ said Tommy calmly.

‘What do we want with a-thousand guinea horse?’ Polly insisted.

‘When we make our move on Sabini’s racing pitches, any men we get into the betting enclosure will be lifted by Sabini’s police. A good racehorse is a passport to the owner’s enclosure.’

‘We’ll be in there with all the toffs,’ noted Arthur.

‘And let me guess, you want your brother there to actually look after the horse. Lucinda too makes a convenient cover for _protection_.’

Tommy’s eyes seemed to flash at that, but he held his tongue.

‘Coppers,’ said Arthur, as if to diffuse the tension, ‘won’t know where to look.’

‘Yeah, the Epsom Derby, Pol. We’ll be drinking with the bloody King,’ noted John.

‘And pissing with him,’ grumbled Hal, earning a snort from his friend.

‘The Derby?’ asked Polly, disbelieving.

Tommy shot John a warning look.

‘Did he say the Derby?’

Tommy heaved a deep sigh. ‘That’s right.’ He cleared his throat, shot another glare at John. ‘For the last ten years Sabini’s made it his race. If we’re gonna take him down, might as well make it there as a symbol.’

‘Did you come up with this idea in a pub by any chance? When Henry wouldn’t talk you down?’

Hal flinched at the use of his name.

‘Pol,’ said Tommy, trying to sate her irritation, ‘a good racehorse is an investment, like property. We need to diversify the portfolio.’

‘So when is this sale?’ asked Polly bitterly.

‘Tomorrow,’ Tommy said simply.

‘And Tommy’s had a death threat so we’ll have to go with him for protection,’ noted Arthur.

But something else caught Hal’s attention. A noise. A door opening carefully. A hissed whisper of warning. Everything else zoned out and he turned slowly, his hand on his pistol. Only John seemed to notice his discomfort, but for the moment his attention slipped between his family, trying to figure out what they were going to do, how exactly this was going to play out.

‘Michael!’ Stan’s voice rose slightly as Hal realised that the other two were coming into the room. Stanley’s face was paler than normal but Michael just looked as though he were on some kind of mission. ‘I tried to stop him,’ insisted Stan, his attention finding Polly in an instant. Apology rang heavy behind his words.

‘Look,’ said Michael before anyone could say anything further, ‘I’ve been listening.’ Stanley let out a low moan. ‘I want to go with them.’

‘You see?!’ exclaimed Polly.

‘I love horses. I could even help,’ insisted Michael.

‘Over my dead body,’ said Polly simply, arms folded tightly across her chest.

‘It’ll be all right, Mum. I’ve been to loads of horse auctions before with my uncle. They’re very respectable. People bring their butlers.’

‘Yeah, and their posh wives!’ chimed in Arthur.

‘And their mistresses,’ said John, elbowing Michael conspiratorially. ‘Stan can bring along the redhead.’

Stan’s face flushed; he looked decidedly away from his brother.

‘Let him come, Polly,’ said Arthur, almost softly. ‘We’ll go there, buy an ‘orse, come back. He can even stick with the others.’

‘Luce is actually coming?’ asked Stanley, his attention on Tommy. But his older brother was looking stoically towards their aunt.

‘I’ll drop ‘em all home before it gets dark,’ Hal said, trying to ignore the sick tightening in his chest. Things never went that easily when the Blinders were involved. Did they really want the three teenagers there, however respectable a horse auction might be? Only Stan was eighteen as far as he knew; they weren’t even adults yet.

‘No,’ said Polly, shaking her head. The sadness behind her eyes was enough to make Hal feel guilty. ‘Fucking no.’

Michael turned on his heel and left, knocking some of the paperwork off the table as he did so. He slammed the door, his footsteps echoed in the empty room beyond.

‘All right,’ said Tommy simply, ‘that’s it. Back to work. Come on!’ He moved to clap Stanley on the shoulder, a look passed between them that Hal knew well. Tommy was about to try comforting his younger brother, probably so that he’d come along.

Hal just hoped that none of them were going to regret this little day trip.

***

Luce twirled herself under the roping, making sure that there were no breaks in it. But the little dance had been unavoidable. It was knotted on the roof of the stable so she could pull on it and check the strength. Not exactly the way Charlie had suggested doing it, however it was something that her father had done. Something she and Wilf used to mess around with.

The memory brought with it a pang of pain but she didn’t ignore it this time. _One day_ , she thought to herself resolutely. One day she would go back, unafraid of how much things had changed. Unafraid of the moods that her brother could no longer avoid. Unafraid of the fact there was no Sy to explore with. But only when Sabini was dealt with.

‘Is that how Londoners check their ropes?’

Tommy’s voice was laced with a kind of amusement that surprised her. She ducked her head under the rope so she stood on one side and him the other, before looking to him. She quirked an eyebrow.

‘I’m still not going to London,’ she said, trying to infuse her voice with as much confidence as she could muster.

‘How about Doncaster?’

Luce scoffed disbelievingly. But his slightly arched eyebrow was like a bucket of ice water. ‘You’re serious?’

‘Always,’ he told her.

‘Why?’

Tommy didn’t answer immediately. He took a cigarette from the box in his pocket, lit it and took a slow drag, his attention on her the whole time.

She did her best not to squirm, even tilted her chin upwards a little, refusing to cower this time. But could she survive telling him no twice?

‘There’s a horse auction,’ he said eventually, his attention straying the length of the rope, doing her job even though it was done. ‘Stanley is coming, and Michael.’

‘So you want a holiday?’

Tommy rolled his eyes, that odd flicker of a slight smirk on his lips once more. ‘Stan will enjoy it more if you’re there.’

Luce bobbed her head ever so slightly. ‘He’ll assume that there’s nothing _family business_ related.’

Tommy surveyed her coolly. She wondered if perhaps she had overstepped the odd line of understanding that they had carefully marked up.

‘There isn’t,’ he said simply after a moment. ‘We’re just going to buy a horse.’

‘And that takes four people?’

‘Eight,’ he said simply, before turning on his heel. ‘Meet us at the shop at nine.’

‘Eight?!’ she echoed, but he was already walking away, already knew that she was coming if it meant calming Stan’s nerves, allowing him this moment of joy. But she couldn’t stop herself from wondering just what kind of trouble they were expecting, and half wondering if she shouldn’t grab Stan and run in the other direction altogether.

***

Luce sat sandwiched between Stan and Michael. Stanley still wasn’t entirely sure why she was there. He understood that it looked good, her and Michael both had experience and despite how he knew Tommy was leading the whole thing it couldn’t hurt appearances, but it set his nerves alight. The only balm for it was the fact that she had her hand in his, fingers laced, and resting on his knee as if to remind him that she didn’t mind being here. It was just another adventure to her.

The car bumped to a stop. Luce’s attention snapped to Stan as he heard the others getting out the front.

‘She’s heating up, Curly, take a look,’ said Tommy, appearing at the back of the truck.

‘Yeah. Luce?’ Curly asked, already part way out of the truck bed.

Luce didn’t need asking twice, she shot an apologetic smile at Stanley before hurrying after the other man; not looking at Tommy as she passed, Stan realised. He vaguely wondered if Cece had had anything to do with Luce’s current desire to learn more about motorised vehicles and how they worked.

‘Let me out for a piss,’ mumbled Charlie as Michael shifted to get something from the other side of him.

Arthur looked as though he were about to be sick, and Stanley wondered if they shouldn’t have asked Polly for some ginger before they left.

‘She made loads,’ said Michael, unwrapping some sandwiches. ‘Do you want one?’ He paused, glancing to Arthur.

‘What the bloody hell’s that?’

‘Pretty sure it’s food, Arth,’ Stanley teased instinctively, earning a sneer from his brother. Despite the humour behind the look, Stan still couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering back to the fact that Arthur had killed a kid in the ring because he couldn’t stop himself. No one had said anything specific but Stanley had heard enough from Finn to know the truth, whatever Tommy was saying to the contrary.

‘Ham, I think,’ Michael admitted, snapping Stan’s thoughts from spiralling. ‘And we’ve got shrimp paste, too.’

‘Keep them away from Hal. Last time he blew up like a fucking balloon,’ teased John, earning an elbow in the gut from his best friend who had been stuck in the front with him and Tommy for the duration so far.

‘There’s tea,’ Michael went on, the words coming out in something of a flurry, ‘but we’ll have to take turns cos there’s only one cup.’

John swiped the thing off the seat.

‘What?’ asked Michael, realising that no one was taking the food.

‘Sandwiches?’ asked Arthur.

‘Yeah,’ said Michael, not getting the joke that had Stan’s brothers smirking.

‘Polly made bloody sandwiches?’

‘Did all the time…’ Stanley said, but he let his voice peter out. He didn’t want to think about when they were in the War, about everything that they’d missed. How things had changed.

‘What’s this, teddy bear’s fucking picnic?’ asked Charlie, sniffing the tea as if to make sure that there wasn’t anything else in it.

Tommy cleared his throat but there was no masking the smirk that still played on his lips. ‘All right. We will drink the tea and we will eat the sandwiches and then we will drive on. All right? No crumbs, Charlie.’ He patted the other man on the shoulder before heading back around to the front of the truck.

‘Hand them over,’ said Arthur, reaching for some.

‘Herd them up, Arth, you fat bastard,’ teased John, reaching for a couple.

‘Fuck off,’ cursed Arthur, passing off a ham sandwich for Stan.

‘John, come on!’ snapped Tommy, as if forgetting his promise of moments before.

Stan was relieved to see Luce’s red hair poking around the edge of the truck.

‘Sandwich?’ asked Michael, nodding to the little bundle that he was shifting back onto his lap so Charlie had his seat.

Luce shot him a small smile but shook her head. She laced her hand with Stan’s once more as she settled between them. He really hoped that this was going to be as easy as Tommy said; doubt, however, was beginning to settle heavily in his stomach.

***

‘All right, lads,’ said Tommy, causing Luce to cough. He glanced back at her, a flicker of a smile on his face, but didn’t correct his statement. She rolled her eyes, but knew there was no maliciousness behind the whole thing. ‘This is a respectable event and we will all behave accordingly. No weapons, no drinking. John, Luce, we will stay together. When the horse comes up, I will do the bidding.’

‘Then what was the point in us?’ Luce asked Stanley in an undertone, but her attention kept straying to the room around them. It had been a long time since she’d been anywhere like this; a life she’d said goodbye to almost two years previously. The half green walls contrasted with the yellow brick above them, making it look far fancier than she knew the room beyond would be, the room that would steal Stan’s attention before he had a moment to blink.

‘I’ve already,’ Tommy went on, and she could hear a slight flicker of irritation behind his voice, assuring her that he’d heard her question, ‘registered my interest with the auctioneer so he knows to expect my bids.’

‘Do I get to run a hand over her, Tommy?’ asked Curly excitedly.

‘We’ll have a vet’s report, Curly. But keep an eye open when she walks,’ Tommy said, before glancing back at Stanley. ‘You too.’

‘I’ve got a feeling, Tommy. Something isn’t right,’ said Curly, and Luce glanced around to smile at Michael, blocking everything else out.

‘Stan said you came to these before,’ she said, noticing John gently patting his cousin’s shoulder. Hal’s attention, on the other side, wasn’t still at all. Despite how calm he seemed, walking beside John, his eyes never once seemed to rest on anything for more than a few seconds.

But whatever Michael might have said got lost in the space of the room. The higher area allowed for a good look at the sand floor below. Horses milled to the edge, owners carefully keeping them calm with the rest of the noise going on around them. The auctioneer’s voice boomed from his little stage, nothing else to carry the sound but his own mouth.

Michael chuckled softly, snapping her attention back to him. ‘Used to come with my uncle… Mum… Mrs Johnson’s brother.’ A slight frown quirked his lips.

Luce shot him an understanding smile, elbowed Stanley gently in the ribs. ‘You can show this one the ropes then,’ she teased.

Stanley batted her hand away gently, but she was already off, already moving to the side of their little group. She put her hands on the railing to get a better look. She felt a hand at the back of her jacket, knew that it was Stanley making sure she didn’t topple over into the pit with her enthusiasm. After a moment, she allowed him to pull her back, for her attention to skim the other people there. All of them were the kinds of people her mother’s dances used to be filled with. Longing settled an uncomfortable knot in her chest. She turned back to Stan, and to Michael.

‘Do you think we could bid for a horse?’

‘Luce!’ whined Stanley, not taking his eyes off the horse though, inspecting it for signs of distress or injury that might be hidden to the untrained eye. But she caught the flicker of amusement behind Michael’s eyes, despite his attempts at not grinning.

‘What?’ she asked innocently. ‘It’d make it look real.’

‘It _is_ real. We really want this horse.’ Stan’s attention shifted to his brother, who was already involved in the bidding.

‘People will realise he just knows what he wants,’ Michael said simply.

‘What if he misses something amazing because he wasn’t looking?’ she countered simply, her attention back on the sea of people on the other side. Most were looking down on the horses, trying to figure out if it was worth making a bet or not. But one woman’s eyes kept straying to Tommy. After a moment, she would mutter something to the man with her, and he would up the bidding a little more.

‘Is that likely?’

Michael’s voice was so low Luce almost missed it. She glanced over to him briefly, spotted the slight shadow across his features that she couldn’t decipher.

‘Thomas Shelby,’ she heard Tommy saying, snapping her back to the present. His attention was on the other side of the building though. A pretty brunette looked back, eyes filled with her own steel and curiosity. Luce wondered if it was already too late to tell her to ignore Thomas Shelby and never look back.

***

‘She looks all right to me, Curly,’ came John’s voice, snapping Stan’s attention away from the horse. Beside him, Luce was turning in circles, her attention on the ceiling as if it might hold some extra secrets. He couldn’t ignore Hal though, standing sentry of them in one corner, his eyes flicking across to the man at the desk every so often. Whatever misgivings Curly had had, Hal seemed to share in them.

‘All their men are dead, see. Officers, all shot,’ said Arthur, pulling Luce’s attention away as well. The frown on her face was something that Stanley didn’t see often, and he was grateful for it. The concern lingering behind it was unsettling.

‘Yeah, by us,’ noted Hal simply.

‘All I’ll say is she has good contacts in the racing world,’ noted Tommy. ‘Here Michael, you drive.’ He chucked the keys across to the boy as Stan tugged Luce to follow the little group. Despite everything, he’d be glad to get back to Small Heath.

‘Thomas Shelby?’ asked a voice, snapping attention to the figure at the table. To the gun that was aimed at Tommy.

Someone knocked Stanley to the floor. He tasted sand, heard the gunshot through the blood pounding in his ears. Desperately, he scrambled for Luce, to make sure she was all right, but she was already up. Standing face-to-face with a blond man whose own hands were shaking; who hadn’t been there moments before. Around them, he could vaguely hear the sounds of a fight. But he was frozen. His muscles refused to move, refused to allow him to help his friend. He’d never felt so helpless.

‘Cinder?’ the man asked, his voice barely more than a disbelieving whisper.

Lucinda took a step forwards, one that Stan couldn’t stop, but a shot made the other man reel around.

Instantly, Luce forced Hal’s arm aside, preventing him from getting another shot off, allowing the man to escape. But not without another look back at her; a look filled with hurt and betrayal and something else that Stan’s head currently couldn’t work out.

‘What was that?’ Hal spat, but his attention was already caught by something else. The cluster of people on the floor. ‘Fuck,’ he said, sticking the gun in its holster and hurrying over.

Luce’s breathing was ragged, Stan realised as he finally managed to move, as he stepped into her line of vision. He carefully cupped her cheeks, forced her to look at him. ‘It’s all right, it’s gonna – Luce?’

She pushed his arms away, went over to the half-wall and rested her hands on it. Her back shook with sobs, but for some reason Stan knew this wasn’t the time to go over to her; wasn’t the time to hold her close and assure her that this was just bad luck.

He tried to ignore the sounds of fighting and instead glanced to his cousin, who was watching, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe that this was what he was getting himself into. Even as Tommy, Curly and Charlie had to bodily remove Arthur from the other man; as Hal’s attention skimmed the rest of the room for signs of another attack, Michael seemed completely unfazed.

‘Don’t get blood on the kid!’ snapped Tommy, moving to push their cousin away, his attention skimming for the rest of them as well. ‘Michael, you didn’t see a thing. This didn’t happen, all right? Give me the keys. Michael, give me the keys.’

Michael stepped forwards, knocking away Tommy’s outstretched hand. ‘I’m all right to drive,’ he said with conviction.

‘All right,’ noted Tommy, pushing him ahead. ‘Go on. Go on, go on!’ His attention snapped to Luce, to Stan. But Hal was already moving towards the girl, and Tommy instead steered the still slightly shocked Stan away.

‘Who was that?’ Stan vaguely heard Hal asking.

Luce sniffed, and Stanley shifted away from Tommy to get to her. ‘It was my brother,’ she said in a hollow voice.


	4. Chapter Four: Friends Close, Enemies Closer

Stan was grateful that Tommy didn't press the matter of her brother with Luce on the way home. Not that he’d had much of a choice. For once Stanley had taken control of the situation. Despite his own fears, he’d all but bundled his friend into the front of the truck with him and Michael, allowing the older men to talk in the back. Whatever they had discussed was merely a dull din of noise at the time. Now, Stan wished he'd been paying more attention. Wished that he knew how to better temper the anger he could see in the others. 

They were sat in the back room of the betting shop. Michael had been taken home, Polly not bothered with this business because they had simply been to a horse auction. There was no need to bother her with the turn of events. Stan knew that, eventually, Tommy would find a way to tell her what had occurred with Luce's brother. But the revelation would have happened far away from where Michael had been, Stan had no doubt about that. 

Stan shook the worries from his head though. His main concern right now was Luce. She sat straight-backed on the edge of a chair, a cup of tea resting on the table with her hands curled around it in the hopes of hiding just how much they were shaking. Her attention skimmed the room, lingered slightly longer on the exits. Despite everything, she still refused to show that kind of open fear; it didn't matter they all knew she was terrified - of the Shelby boys, of her brother, of what it all meant - she wasn't going to let it take over completely. 

'Your brother,' said Tommy softly, keeping his emotions in check save for the stillness of his hands. He wasn't smoking, wasn't doing anything other than looking at Luce, trying to read her. Beside him, John was pacing and Arthur downed a glass of whiskey. 'Your fucking _brother_ works for Sabini.'

'He didn't,' Luce admitted, her voice hoarse, tone disbelieving. It was the first thing she'd said since she she’d announced her relationship to him. Even though the others had ranted, even though Stan had tried to corral her into saying even the smallest of things as soon as they’d got into the shop, she’d remained petulantly silent. 'Before I left.'

'You expect us to believe that?' bit out John, rounding on her. 

To her credit, Luce didn't even flinch. She bowed her head ever so slightly. 'Believe what you want. It's the truth.'

Arthur let out a low sound from the back of his throat. What Stan wouldn't have given for Hal to be there, some kind of calm in the storm. But the other man was still checking their other places, making sure Charlie and Curly were back safely. 

Tommy huffed, cursed softly as he turned his back on them all. 'It's the truth,' he admitted quietly. 'Either that or Danny didn't hear about it.'

Luce's attention snapped to him, the only indication of any irritation at how thoroughly he'd checked her out when she first arrived. 

Arthur glared at her, as if the whole thing was somehow her fault. 'So now what, Tom?' he growled, making Stan's hackles raise. Instinctively he rested a gentle hand on Luce's arm, a reassurance for the both of them. 

Tommy reached into his pocket, got out a cigarette and lit it without saying a word. Stan knew that he was thinking, weighing up their options, figuring out a plan. A plan that, Stan hated to realise, benefited the family if not Luce. He didn't want to think about that though. Didn’t want to think about the lengths his brother would go to protect them right now.

'Nothing,' Tommy eventually admitted. 

'Nothing?' asked John incredulously. 

Tommy turned slowly, his attention slipping easily over everyone else and landing on Luce. She held his gaze, a steel behind her eyes Stan was almost worried would be completely diminished after the run-in with her brother. The earth shattering realisation that he was on the other side of all this. 

'Hal will look out for you,' Tommy went on, ignoring the burning looks of the others. 'If anyone comes, he'll protect you.'

'He's my brother, Tommy,' Luce said in a small voice. 

He bowed his head ever so slightly. 'But he works for Sabini now. Who knows what they might try.'

Luce tensed, looked away from him. 'Maybe I can talk to him.'

'And tell him everything?' snapped John. 

Luce's attention snapped to him. Her look was so filled with bitterness that he took a step backwards in surprise. The reaction would have been funny in any other circumstances. 

'She wouldn't,' pacified Stan as best he could. 

'She won't,' Tommy said simultaneously, a worrying conviction behind his voice. 'But if Sabini knows…'

'Then Small Heath isn't safe,' murmured Luce. She stood up slowly, tea left untouched. 'I should go.'

'Sit down,' said Tommy, voice oddly soft. A chill of unease ran down Stan's spine. 'You go running now and they'll think we did something. This gets worse for all of us,' he explained calmly. 

Luce remained standing. John shifted, almost imperceptibly, towards the door. Arthur's hand tightened on his glass. But Stan didn't think Luce was going to run. Not now. 

'So what,' she asked, voice hollow, 'I stay, let Sabini keep using my brother?'

'Yes,' Tommy said simply before taking a long drag of his cigarette. His eyes never once strayed from Luce though. 'You're safer here than you would be alone. And as for your brother, that didn't look like a man being used.' There was the barest trace of apology behind his voice. 

Luce's chest was rising and falling with ragged breaths. Stanley wanted nothing more than to hug her, to take her hand and lead her away from all this. But he couldn't. If Tommy had any way of protecting her, Stan wanted to know. 

After a moment, however, she sighed, nodded her head almost imperceptibly and lowered herself back into the seat. 'Then what do we do?'

Tommy took another puff of his cigarette, his attention strayed to the others. 'We keep going,' he said simply before putting the cigarette out in one of the trays. 'Arthur, wait until Hal's back then go home. Family meeting tomorrow.' And with that, he moved to clap John on the shoulder and steered him out of the room. 

Stan watched them go, felt the tension aching his muscles as he gently took Luce's hand, as he laced their fingers together. He just hoped that Tommy could protect her from this, though he was petrified that no one really could. 

***

‘What the fuck, Tom?’ John demanded as soon as he and Tommy were outside. Hal caught sight of them and he scanned the brothers, trying to figure out what exactly had just happened inside to make John so irate. ‘You wanna keep her close when she might be feeding fucking Sabini information?’

Tommy was silent. He inclined his head ever so slightly in way of greeting to Hal.

John’s attention found him in an instant. ‘What’d you think about us bloody protecting _her_?’

For a moment, Hal remained quiet. If he was being honest, he was glad that Tommy didn’t see Luce as a threat. It meant that she would, perhaps, be safer than if they simply turfed her out. But he worried about what might happen. John had a point. The idea that she might be feeding information to another gang was something that couldn’t simply be ignored.

John didn’t actually wait for an answer though. His anger was so much that he couldn’t properly put a lid on it. ‘She turns up out of fucking nowhere and just so happens to know information to help with the expansion south. Seems stupid.’

‘She didn’t actually know a lot,’ Tommy admitted, his voice calm as he lit up a cigarette. ‘All she could really say was what Danny had already found out. Sylvain Alfonsi appears to have been pretty good at keeping the two worlds separate.’

‘From Luce?’ Hal couldn’t hide his mild awe at the fact.

A flicker of a smirk passed across Tommy’s lips as he let out a long drag of smoke. ‘She hates Sabini too much to be helping him.’

‘Does she?’ spat John, throwing his arms up in exasperation as he walked further down the street. ‘Or is she just that good?’ He didn’t need to throw the accusation about Grace in Tommy’s face, but the implication hung heavily in the air between them. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had pulled the wool over their eyes. ‘How did Sabini know to jump you when you were at your car, hm?’

‘I’m not the only one who has fucking brains when it comes to these things, John,’ said Tommy, his voice filled with ice.

Hal stepped between the two of them, raised his hands peaceably in the hopes that he might actually stop them from ripping each other to shreds.

‘How can you defend her when she stopped you shooting one of Sabini’s men?’ John asked, genuinely perplexed. ‘One who was _aiming for you_?’

Hal raised an eyebrow at his friend. ‘Would you let someone shoot one of your brothers? Even if you were fighting, huh?’

The comment brought John up short. He blustered for a moment before sucking his teeth and turning away from them both. ‘Fucking Londoners,’ he cursed before stalking away.

Hal watched his retreating back, not following for the simple reason that he knew John needed time alone to sort through his own thoughts. Instead, he turned to look at Tommy.

‘Keep an eye on Luce,’ he said, despite his attention following his brother’s path. ‘Don’t take her to the yard tomorrow, just in case someone tries something.’

‘You think they’d do it so soon?’

Tommy shook his head ever so slightly. ‘No, wouldn’t make a big enough impact. But Luce might try something. Especially if Stan’s not there.’

‘Stan’s not there?’ Hal echoed, his hand instinctively resting on the butt of his gun.

‘She’s safer with us,’ Tommy said, tone more pragmatic than anything else, ‘he’s safer away from all this shit.’

For a moment, Hal merely surveyed his friend. He could see the tension in his shoulders, could see the thoughts swirling around in his head, piecing together a plan that had been shattered by the simple revelation that Lucinda Turner’s brother was one of Sabini’s men. The blond man from the club; suddenly, Hal realised why he had looked so familiar. There was something about him that was so similar to Luce – the ghost of the smile? The shape of the eyes, he couldn’t be certain – that it was impossible to ignore.

‘Just, keep an eye on her,’ Tommy repeated before heading off down the road, leaving Hal to enter the shop in the hopes of preventing Arthur doing anything that might further the distance that was settling uneasily between himself and Stan these days.

***

Luce paced because there was nothing else she could do. Hal had set up the spare room above the shop; according to Tommy it was the safest place. Very few people dared go the rooms, and the constant foot traffic there was a saving grace. She recognised it for what it was though. There was constantly a Shelby on hand to keep an eye on her, unlike at the Garrison. People were practically monitored as they came in and out of the shop, and at night the Shelbys were close enough to hear if a floorboard so much as creaked.

'Will you stop?' Esme's voice was soft, but the difference between it and the constant sounds of her getting ready for the day meant it resonated with Luce like a whip crack. 'You're worse than my cousin.'

Luce scoffed, more an exhale of air than an actual laugh though. 

Esme's attention shifted to her in an instant. There was an almost pitying look behind her eyes that Luce had to turn away from. She'd seen that look before, people shot it her way after her brother and father went off to war. Even worse was the lingering sadness after news of Sy spread. 

She could no longer run from it all though. Sabini was slowly closing the walls around her, making it difficult to escape the past. Perhaps she should ignore Tommy, travel down to London and face this head on. After all, some of the reasons she'd left seemed intent on finding her. If she took the battle to them -

'Luce, I've seen that look before,' Esme said, cutting her thoughts off in an instant. The smaller lady was by her side, dark eyes filled with an emotion Luce couldn't quite place. She murmured something in Romani. 

Luce wrinkled her nose slightly as she turned the words over in her head. 'I can't remember what that means.'

Esme gently tapped her shoulder. 'You've been skimping out on practice again,' she chided lightly. 'I simply said "Home is where the heart is."'

'Is that your way of telling me not to do anything?' Luce couldn't help but huff as she started fiddling with a stray strand of hair. 

Esme merely shrugged. Anything she might have said was cut short by a knock on the door. 'We're closed!' she snapped. 

The knocking continued. 

With firm hands Esme gripped Luce's shoulders and ushered her to the stairs. 'Wait there, at least until Hal's here.'

'What if it's Sabini's lot?' Luce asked, trying to round on the other woman but being unable to. 

'Exactly,' was all Esme said on the matter before pushing the small of Luce's back gently, shifting her closer to the bottom step. There was such a firmness behind her eyes, worsened only when she planted her hands on her hips, that Luce couldn't find it in herself to argue. 

She huffed bitterly before hurrying up the stairs, only glancing back once as Esme got the keys out and disappeared from view. 

***

Stan stood with May, Tommy and Charlie as Curly brought the mare over. Despite his usual excitement to talk about horses, to show off what he and Curly had already achieved, today it felt somewhat hollow. He wished that he could have gone to see Luce, to check on her. But Tommy had told him to go to the yard, to meet with May, and he didn't feel like an argument. So he'd gone, but he promised himself he'd check on Luce as soon as it was done. 

If Hal hadn't already brought her to the yard by then. He tried not to think about what all this was like for her. Tried not to think about the temptation of getting away. Perhaps he should've suggested that. Asked Tommy if the two of them couldn't go off on an adventure. Far away until it all blew over. 

But what his brother had said was right. Despite constant threat looming over them, Luce was safer with them. With other Peaky Blinders around to watch her back, even if they were always waiting for her to betray them. 

‘She looks in very good condition, considering she’s not been out of then gallops,’ noted May, snapping Stan's attention back to the job at hand. 

‘I rode her every day, tried to get out of the city,’ Stan said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, trying to get rid of the biting chill that seemed to have settled over the city.

‘And, Curly and Stan make quite a team. Curly’s the best horseman in England,’ noted Tommy.

‘I have a man called Mickey who’d argue the point,’ said May as the two of them wandered over the horse.

Tommy gently ran his hand down the animal’s muzzle.

‘Curly’s half horse himself,’ said Stan, shooting the man a small smile.

‘She’s blessed,’ Curly told Tommy reverently, ignoring the comment that coerced a small quirk of a smile from Tommy. ‘Very blessed.’

‘Well, she’s from the best stock,’ said May as Stanley shifted a little closer, keeping some distance between him and his brother.

‘But I’d rather have a coloured pony. Mixed blood is stronger,’ noted Curly.

‘Not to win the Derby, Curly,’ Tommy reasoned.

‘Don’t like them racing, Tommy, not the way they beat them.’ Curly held the reins out to May. ‘She’s all yours.’

‘Thank you,’ May said as Curly hurried away.

Stanley almost went after him, but Tommy shook his head ever so slightly, freezing him to the spot.

‘He gets sad when one leaves,’ Charlie explained.

‘What time’s your box van coming?’ asked Tommy.

‘Midday.’ May was still stroking the horse carefully, getting her used to the feel.

Tommy nodded, before clapping Stanley on the shoulder. ‘You don’t mind if my brother helps settle the horse, do you?’

‘W – what?’ spluttered Stan, shooting his brother a sharp look. But Tom’s attention was on May, trying to read her answer before she gave it.

She looked curiously towards Stanley, who felt his face flushing. No matter how wonderful it sounded, how much he would have loved seeing how she trained the mare, he couldn’t leave Luce. Not now. Especially not now. Surely Tommy had to know that. Perhaps Luce could come with him though. Maybe this was Tommy’s real plan after all. The less people who really knew where Luce was, the better. 

‘If he wants,’ May said, inclining her head ever so slightly.

Stanley opened his mouth but Charlie cut across him gently. ‘Maybe you’ve got time to take the lady to the Garrison. Show her the spa, the tearooms.’

‘I’d like that, why not?’ said May, her gaze straying ever so slightly towards Stan, still trying to figure out his thoughts on the whole affair.

Tommy squeezed Stan’s shoulder gently, almost reassuringly, before releasing him and moving away. ‘Come along then, the Garrison awaits.’

Stan stood fixed to the spot, watching as the two of them walked away, unable to say anything more.

Charlie clapped him gently on the shoulder. ‘Come on, you said something about wanting to check Divine Star.’

Right now, however, Stanley wanted to do no such thing. He wanted to see Luce, to check on her for himself. He wanted to ask Tommy what he was doing; demand to know what the real plan was. But instead he allowed himself to be guided away, wondering just how he'd ended up here. 

***

When the door made a sound at about ten, Luce was there in an instant. The shop had come alive with noise, noise that filtered through the closed doors and made her long to head in there. But she’d refrained only because of a stern look from Polly, and the distraction of making tea in case anyone wanted any. Now, faced with something to actually do, she found that her fears were getting the better of her.

Carefully, she raised the poker that sat beside the fireplace and brandished it like a weapon.

‘Luce?’ Stan’s voice was little more than a squeak as he spotted the weapon, faltering in his instant reaction to pull her into a hug. Behind him, a hulking figure that she didn’t recognise was glaring at her. Not she minded much.

‘Stan,’ she breathed, allowing the poker to clatter to the floor. She pulled him in for a quick hug. ‘Are we going to the yard?’ She could hear the eagerness behind her own voice, knew that the almost desperate edge to it could have embarrassed her, but it didn’t. The thought of staying in the shop any longer was worse than the fears of what might be waiting out on the streets.

But she could see the solemnness behind his eyes, could see the sadness that forced his shoulders to sink and him to practically hunch in over himself.

‘Stan?’

‘I’m going with Grace’s Secret, make sure she’s all right with May.’ His voice was hollow, devoid of any of the excitement that she thought the admittance should have brought with it.

‘That’s wonderful,’ she said, trying to infuse her voice with the excitement that he was lacking. ‘You’ll love it, I’m sure.’ She felt the prickle of tears at the back of her throat but refused to give in to them. Just because she was basically under house arrest – even if it was, supposedly, for her own protection – that didn’t mean he had to be.

‘Luce,’ he said softly, his attention on her in an instant. His eyes were swimming, fear shone brightly behind them.

She shook her head, took his hand carefully in both of hers and gave it a firm squeeze. ‘Honestly,’ she vowed, smiling despite how brittle the gesture currently felt, ‘I’ll be fine.’

He surveyed her for a long while. She knew that he could see the lie, knew that he was silently imploring her to be there when he got back, but that was one promise she couldn’t voice. Even she didn’t know if she would be sticking around for the duration, or if the pull of London, of finding out what Sabini had over her brother to make him work for the gangster, would be too much.

Carefully, she untangled their hands and took a step away from him. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ she said, unable to say goodbye because it felt too permanent.

‘Come on, can’t keep Charlie waiting,’ the man behind him said, his eyes narrowed and on Luce the whole time.

Stan wetted his lips, opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it again quickly. Instead, he merely nodded and allowed himself to be steered out of the betting shop.

Luce watched, really hoping that things would be all right for him. That at least he’d be safe away from it all, even if it broke her heart to see him go while she was stuck in Birmingham until all of this blew over.

Luce had never been very good at waiting. Even less so at the moment, it appeared. Every so often her attention would drift to the ceiling. She was stuck between wanting to run upstairs and grab her pack, or to grab Sy's letters and read them all over again. At least if some of the nightmares she'd left in London were coming back to haunt her, the ones his letters dredged up would be a reprieve of sorts. 

The sound of a door opening snapped her attention to the alcove. She was up in an instant, expecting Hal, half expecting Wilf or even Francisco Alfonsi. Half wishing that it was Stan coming back to collect her, having persuaded Tommy that it was better the both of them went than he went alone.

'Michael?' she asked, unable to hide her confusion. 

He shot her a small smile as he crossed to the table. She tracked his movements, trying to figure out why he was there. 

'If you wanted to see Stan, or the horse, they're at the yard,' she admitted, half wondering if she could get him to take her. After all, he was part of the family. 

He shook his head ever so slightly, took the seat opposite her. He surveyed her for a moment before carefully shifting, crossing one leg over the other. 'I wanted to ask you about your brother.'

Luce remained standing, folded her arms across herself. 'Tommy?'

Michael made a sound of disagreement. This wasn’t Tommy trying to get more information out of her. This was the idle curiosity of a boy suddenly very aware of what his family really did. 'He's trying to kill Tommy, isn't he?'

'No,' Luce defended, a little more sharply than she'd meant to. She glanced to Michael, the beginnings of an apology on her lips, but she faltered. He looked completely unperturbed by the outburst. In fact, he was looking at her curiously, as if trying to puzzle something out. She sagged under the weight of the look, unfolded her arms and ran a fingernail through a groove in the table. 'I don't know what he's doing,' she admitted softly. 

'But it's something to do with the less legitimate side of things.' There was no question behind his voice, he was merely stating facts. 

'What does it matter?' she asked, looking up and matching his steady gaze. 

'Your family trying to kill mine?'

She scoffed, shook her head disbelievingly and refused to meet his eye again. 'Wilf wouldn't do that,' she said, but she heard the uncertainty behind her own voice. She really didn’t know her brother any more. Not since he’d come back from the War. Not since she’d run away, unable to cope with all the changes.

'He looked pretty ready to shoot Hal before he spotted you saving his hide.'

Luce's rage flared, despite her best efforts to control it. But when she turned to look at Michael once more, there was no bitterness behind his eyes. Just that steady, almost analytical look that was somehow more disconcerting.

‘No one would have let that happen,’ she ground out.

Michael shrugged, almost elegantly, before standing.

‘What is it you actually want, Michael?’ she asked, tracking his movements as he strolled towards the door.

‘Just trying to work out how all this works before my job interview.’

‘Interview?’ she asked, momentarily completely derailed.

‘Accountant’s clerk,’ he said simply, a small smile on his face before he left her to it.

Only once the door had clicked softly shut did she sink back against her chair. Michael had a point, no matter how much she hated to admit to it. She had no idea how far her brother was willing to go with Sabini’s orders, and just why he was following them in the first place. The thought made her stomach knot uncomfortably.

***

Hal had collected Luce as the sky darkened with a feeling of unease running over him. Tommy had suggested not taking her to the yard, just in case someone tried something. He’d hated the duplicity of it all, knowing that Luce assumed she’d be heading to work, but he had other errands to run, and the shop really was the safest place for the meantime.

He hadn’t told Cece what had happened, but she had seen the tension in him. For once, she hadn’t pressed, and for that he was grateful. He understood what Tommy was doing, trying to keep the girl close in case something else happened – either Sabini trying to get at her, or her own attempts to reach out to her brother – but he didn’t want to think about what Cecily would do if she knew.

But at least she was finally out of the shop. Hal sat on one side of her in the snug; her red hair shifted out the corner of his eye, almost like a flickering fire. She wasn’t really part of the celebrations, despite what Tommy had insisted, despite how they’d all welcomed her; John and Arthur somewhat reluctantly, Hal had to admit. But she was there, and for the moment that meant she was safe.

‘Well, Finn, you’ve got two choices – mild or mild,’ said John, putting a glass in front of his brother.

‘Mild,’ Finn chuckled. Beside him, Esme let out a drag of smoke; her eyes skimmed over to Luce. Apparently Hal wasn’t the only one worried about the redhead. Without Stan, however, he had no idea what was keeping her in the city. For some reason Tommy had sent his brother off to help May; away from the horrors that might stalk them in the streets of Birmingham now a new part of Sabini’s hand had been shown. The goodbye between Stan and Luce - two people Hal was beginning to think should never be separated - had, apparently, been short lived. He didn’t envy Scudboat for having to pry them apart.

The door opened. Luce jumped, and Hal’s hand twitched.

‘Here he is, look,’ said Arthur, soothing Hal’s concerns in an instant. Luce, however, still looked on edge, even as Michael and Polly entered.

A cheer rose around the room, but Hal saw none of the happiness behind Luce’s eyes.

Tommy stood, shook the boy’s hand. ‘Happy birthday, Michael.’

‘Eighteen years old. You’re a man today,’ noted Arthur. ‘Give him a drink, John boy.’

‘There you go, lad,’ said John, passing the thing over.

‘And after that,’ went on Arthur, ‘we’ll go find you a lady of the night.’

‘Arthur!’ scolded Polly as John and Hal scoffed.

‘Michael,’ said Tommy, before clearing his throat and handing a box across, preventing any further plans from his brothers.

‘What’s that?’ Michael asked, flicking the lid open.

‘So you’re never late for work,’ said Tommy, and Hal knew that it must have been the traditional pocket watch. It was something that the Shelbys never forgot. Even Stanley had been given one a few months earlier, despite how the young man never really used it, too afraid of breaking it at the yard. In fact, Polly had even given Hal his own watch on his birthday.

‘Welcome to the business, Michael,’ said John.

‘Welcome to the business,’ echoed Polly, pulling him in for a hug.

‘Thank you,’ Michael said into his mother’s fur ruff.

‘Right, come on, let’s get him drunk. Come here, you,’ said John, going to wrap an arm around his cousin.

‘All right, whiskey,’ announced Arthur as John placed Michael between the two of them.

‘No whiskey,’ said Tommy simply, ‘he’s at work tomorrow. Give him only dark mild. A toast.’

‘Toast,’ agreed Arthur.

Luce picked up a glass of water with a shaking hand. Oddly, Hal was a little grateful that he wasn’t not drinking alone, but his heart went out for her. This wasn’t exactly how she’d expected to spend a Friday night, sandwiched in with Peaky Blinders, some of whom didn’t trust her despite the help she’d, reluctantly, provided them with.

‘To Michael,’ toasted Tommy.

‘To Michael,’ they all said, clinking their glasses in the middle of the room.

Esme tipped her head, whispered something to Luce that earned a slight smile.

A little of Hal’s tension slipped away. He just hoped that the girl was going to be all right. That Tommy’s plan would work and they’d soon figure out why exactly Luce’s brother was mixed up in everything. Even if only to quell Luce’s worries.

***

Stan watched as Mickey galloped Grace’s Secret across the fields. He’d never seen so much space, least of all space owned by one person. But then, May Carleton’s house was basically a village in his eyes. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. It put even Aunt Polly’s new house to shame.

‘You didn’t have to come,’ noted May softly, and when Stan looked to her, her attention was on the horse, checking how she was moving. Either that, or she was simply unable to look at him.

It was only then that Stanley realised he hadn’t been smiling. That he felt the corners of his lips downturned into a frown and that his expression had probably been like that all morning. He wondered if she had seen the tension in his shoulders, seen how reluctant he’d been to get out of the city.

To leave Luce.

But the opportunity had been too good to miss. When else might he get the chance to learn as much as he was going to here? Curly could only teach him so much. May and Mickey might be able to teach him things that would help get him get a proper job.

‘ _You’ll be safer outside of the city,’_ Tommy had told him, not looking at him directly as they watched Mickey lead Grace’s Secret into the box van.

‘ _What about everyone else?’_ Stan’s attention had skimmed his brother’s face, desperately trying to figure out what he was up to.

Tommy had slowly turned his attention towards Stan then, but there was no comfort in the look. If anything, it had made him squirm. ‘ _You saw what Luce did when her brother almost shot Hal_ ,’ he’d said evenly, holding Stan’s gaze as if willing him to understand all of this. ‘ _What do you think she’d do if you were in the firing line?_ ’

Stanley coughed now, tried to dismiss the memories. He couldn’t think on them, couldn’t allow himself to worry. And yet, he also couldn’t help himself.

‘I wanted to learn, Ms Carleton,’ he said, trying to shoot her a small smile.

‘May, please,’ she said, a soft smile on her own face. She raised a hand, waved Mickey over. ‘Why don’t you ride her a little? Perhaps it might help.’

He chuckled softly but he could still feel the pull of home tugging at his heart. He wished that he’d said more to reassure Luce before he’d left, or somehow found the courage to tell her to ignore Tommy completely, asked her to come with him. But then they’d be in more danger, that much he couldn’t deny, and it was one thing that he wouldn’t allow himself to do: put her in danger, especially if the reason for it came from a place of selfishness. 

***

Wilf walked behind the little cluster of Italians and tried not to think about his sister. She’d looked happy, talking to the people he knew to be Shelbys, right up until she recognised him. Until she knocked the man’s arm aside to stop him killing Wilf. Shock had been the predominant expression on her face. Not happiness, not gratitude, pure shock that still made his stomach churn to think about.

Was she really one of them?

_ No _ , he reminded himself bitterly, as he had done so many times since that day. _They’ve bewitched her, but Cinder’s still fighting. Still trying to remember who she is._

He shook the thoughts clear, turned his attention instead to the task at hand. To Alfie Solomons walking towards them, one of his bakers just behind. Was it one of Shelbys’ men? Wilf’s hands balled tightly by his sides. Perhaps he could send his own message to the gypsies. Let them know that he was coming for them as well. That he wouldn’t relent until he’d protected his sister from them, no matter what it took.

Not that Wilf’s thoughts were with the conversation at hand. He was only there because they didn’t trust him not to do something drastic now he’d seen his sister. He had felt Sewell’s eyes on him ever since that day, knew that he was the one currently holding his leash. They still didn’t trust him not to go behind their backs, to do something that might not benefit them in the way he’d promised.

Sabini was taking his promise to a dead boy more seriously than Wilf could even have imagined.

Still, Wilf stood sentry at the back of the room, letting the words of the gangsters, and their plan, wash over him. Beside him he felt Francisco Alfonsi braced and ready for a fight. He knew that the man wanted to be out of there as much as he did, but for very different reasons. Both of them, however, were eager to see Cinder again. There was no way Wilf would let that happen. Despite everything, he would rather she continued being bewitched by the gypsies than left to the hands of Alfonsi. Sabini might have wanted to preserve his best friend’s son’s wishes of leaving Luce alone, but Francisco’s hatred, the fact he blamed her for his own failings as a parent, won out. This was about honour to him, not a friendship his son thought more important than anything else.

Wilf made himself a promise then, as the gang leaders made their own plans to get back at the stupid little razor gang that was somehow causing them more trouble than they were worth. If Sabini didn’t get his sister back by the end of the week, he was going to go up there and save her himself. Gangs and their stupid sense of loyalty be damned.

***

Even though it was getting late, Stan had decided to spend time with Grace’s Secret. The horse was still a little timid, still seemed uncertain of the new surroundings. However well Mickey was dealing with the animal, however nice the place was, she was still on edge about another new home.

‘You and me both, girl,’ murmured Stanley, gently stroking her muzzle. ‘We’ll be back in the city before you know it.’

‘Will you?’

Stan turned quickly at the sound of his brother’s voice. Tommy already had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, his hands tucked firmly in his pockets, his attention focused on the horse.

Stan felt the tension rising in his shoulders. ‘Tom,’ he breathed, not even knowing where to start. He had so many questions, questions about the others, about what his brother was doing there.

Tommy let out a long breath of smoke. ‘How’s it been?’

‘Good,’ murmured Stan, nodding as if to affirm the point.

‘Learning lots?’

Stanley heaved a sigh as his brother took another deep inhale of smoke. ‘How’s everyone?’

A flicker of a smile across Tommy’s lips. It was almost enough to calm his brother’s concerns.

‘You missed Michael’s birthday,’ he said simply. ‘Arthur’s enjoying London; John’s trying to get Hal to marry Cece; Finn’s… well, Finn.’ His attention finally slipped to Stan, his eyes scanning Stanley as if he were trying to figure something out. ‘I think Luce is going stir crazy.’

Stan let out a nervous breath, raked a hand through his hair. ‘But she’s safe?’

Tommy lowered his eyes, looked back to Grace’s Secret as he patted her flank gently, stroked her with the care Stan was used to. ‘She’s safe,’ he assured him, but there was a note of uncertainty there. It sent a shiver of unease down Stan’s back. If even Tommy wasn’t sure…

‘Come on,’ Tommy said, clapping him gently on the shoulder. ‘I’ve been told food’s being prepared. And I’m sure Luce, and Pol, would have something to say if you caught your death here.’

Despite everything, Stanley chuckled softly. He just hoped that things would work out for the better.

***

Hal ran his fingers through Cece’s hair, gently brushing through a couple of tangles. She was reading a book that he didn’t really recognise, a small smile on her face. He wondered if she was shifting things in it, making it more acceptable for the kids if John ever needed them to babysit again. But he didn’t ask, not wanting to disturb her peace.

So instead, he thought on what John had said to him. All morning his friend had been asking him about the wedding. A wedding that Hal hadn’t even said was happening yet. Part of him wondered if it was partially Esme’s influence. But he knew that wasn’t it. It was his friend’s way of saying sorry for snapping, for getting irritable about the protection they were now offering Luce. After all, it wasn’t Hal’s decision, he just agreed with Tommy’s thoughts on the matter.

‘ _You’ve never been so happy, Hal,_ ’ John had said, voice oddly soft.

Hal had to admit, he had a point, and yet…

A knocking on the door shattered their calm. In an instant Hal was up, and Cece was kneeling on the sofa beside him. He raised his gun.

‘Wait here,’ he said softly, slipping out of the room. He knew that Cece wouldn’t listen but the words had soothed his worries a little.

He edged closer to the door, tried to figure out if he recognised the silhouette. They were small, but he knew better than to think that meant it was safe. To not be worried that something terrible was going to happen.

‘Who is it?’ he asked, voice low.

‘Sorry,’ came the mumbled reply, and for a moment every nerve in his body seemed to fizz with concern. ‘I didn’t mean to –’ Hal hauled open the door before Luce had even finished the sentence ‘– disturb you.’

‘What happened?’ he asked, his eyes raking over her, trying to see if there was something wrong. His attention quickly turned to the rest of the street, scanning to see if someone had followed her, if someone had forced her here.

‘Is that Lucinda?’ asked Cece, a moment before she appeared in the doorway. Her smile brightened as she hurried over, gently took the girl’s hands and pulled her into the house. ‘Are you all right?’ She cupped Luce’s face, turned it gently this way and that to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

Somehow, Luce managed to nod, her lip caught between her teeth as she allowed Cecily to fuss. Hal carefully closed the door. ‘I just… I couldn’t stay above the shop,’ she said softly, her attention resolutely on Cece’s forehead. ‘It was too quiet after dark. And I… I didn’t –’

‘Don’t be silly, _annwyl_ , you can stay here as long as you need.’ Cece didn’t look to Hal as she spoke, and he knew that if any of the Shelbys questioned the decision she would give them a piece of her mind they wouldn’t easily forget.

He heaved a sigh as he tucked his gun into his holster. ‘I’ll go make up the spare room,’ he said softly, giving Luce’s shoulder a brief but firm squeeze, an attempt to reassure her.

‘Come on, let’s get you some tea,’ said Cece, and Hal glanced briefly over his shoulder, watched the two of them head through to the kitchen before he started up the stairs.

Luce chuckled softly and Hal didn’t miss the brightness behind her eyes as Cece let her hair fall down from the pathetic up-do she’d tested on the girl. Not a couple of hours had passed and already Luce looked far calmer than she had upon arriving. He’d also seen the calmness wash over Cece; he loved that she was enjoying having the girl there.

A slight creak caught Hal’s attention.

‘Oi, Hal!’ John’s voice filtered in through the letterbox before an incessant knocking filled the room.

Luce tensed and Hal could have sworn that Cece shifted a little in front of her. Bodily preventing anyone from removing the girl.

‘I’ve got this,’ he said, getting up in an instant. He doubted that this was what they thought but he couldn’t be certain.

‘You have impeccable timing,’ Hal complained as he hauled the door open. He was surprised to see Arthur and Jeremiah idling in the street behind John. His friend’s hat was quirked to an awkward angle; his shoulders squared in a way that assured Hal something was wrong. ‘What’s happened?’

‘The Marquis of Lorne needs to be taught a lesson,’ John said simply. There was a slight smirk on his face but an undercurrent of disappointment flickered underneath it. It was a decent enough pub, he didn’t really want to be doing anything but the necessity was apparently too much to ignore.

‘What happened?’ Hal asked, before shaking his head. ‘Actually, tell me another time. I can’t come now, lads.’

John’s smirk deepened. ‘Oh, you got more important things to do?’

Hal rolled his eyes. ‘Good luck though.’

‘You too, mate,’ John said, gently patting Hal on the cheek before moving to the others, and disappearing off into the night.

Hal heaved a deep breath. Eventually he’d have to tell the Shelbys that Luce had decided to take matters into her own hands; he’d have to persuade them that his place really was the safest and probably their only way of her not running off now there was no Stan to keep her in Birmingham. But she could have tonight to relax, to spend giggling with Cece as if it might somehow keep her thoughts off everything that was happening.

One night of some sort of freedom that was slowly being ripped from her because of the actions of people around her. It was the only thing that he could do for her, and Hal was determined not to let anything ruin it. 


	5. Chapter Five: Lessons in Violence

When Luce first woke up she was worried that something had happened. The room was unfamiliar, filled with garish walls and the odd ornament that looked as though it might possibly be haunted. The wardrobe could have hidden other worlds in it and the blanket that she had kicked off was so lumpy she assumed it had been knitted by someone that had no idea what they were doing. The soft sound of the wireless, a voice singing along with the lilt of the almost unfamiliar, however, assured her things were fine. Cece’s voice, amongst all the other accents Luce was getting accustomed to, was a reassurance in itself.

The shop had been too quiet, or too loud. She hated the long hours there when she was practically alone but also disliked how early everything happened. If she was being honest, it wasn’t too different to the pub, it was just that she hadn’t chosen it. It felt too much like a cage, and she was determined to get out of it. Even trips to the yard with Hal hadn’t helped to dispel her feelings of imprisonment; a lack of Stanley at the yard had made the whole thing something of a chore if she was being completely honest.

With a sigh, Luce slipped out of bed, hastily got changed and went downstairs. She was greeted by the clattering of cutlery.

‘Did Henry wake you with his heavy-handedness, _annwyl_?’ asked Cece, barely glancing over her shoulder as Luce padded into the kitchen.

Luce raised an eyebrow. For some reason, she’d never really thought about Hal being called anything but Hal. She shook the revelation from her thoughts. ‘No, I just woke up.’

Cece nodded, calmed by the reassurance.

‘Do you need a hand?’ Luce asked, stepping closer to where the other woman was cooking.

Cecily’s blue eyes were steely when she looked to Luce this time. ‘You’re our guest, I don’t expect you to do anything,’ she said warmly. ‘Why don’t you sit down at the table.’ The suggestion came out with very little room for argument.

‘Tea?’ Hal asked before she could argue the point. He held out the kettle, a tea towel clasped around the handle to protect him from the scorching metal.

‘Please,’ Luce said, shooting him a small smile. She could see the look of uncertainty behind his eyes, wondered if he’d already told the Shelbys that she was there. Would they try getting her to go back to the shop? Remind her that, in their infinite wisdom, they thought it was the safest place?

Hal bobbed his head and started pouring, but his gaze kept shifting over to her.

She fidgeted slightly as she slipped into a chair.

‘What’s the plan for today then, Lucinda?’ asked Cece, dishing up the food already. ‘Break a few boys’ hearts?’

Luce felt a flush rushing to her cheeks as she spluttered her protests. But Cece shot her a wicked grin as she put the plate down on the table. She patted Luce’s shoulder. ‘I know you’re not like that,’ she assured her. ‘But seriously, what were you planning?’

‘Charlie’s yard, I’d suspect,’ said Hal as he put the kettle back on the hob.

‘Day off,’ Luce said, her attention on the food in front of her: toast and bacon. After grabbing food to go as she headed to the yard a proper breakfast was something of a novelty; one that she hadn’t truly appreciated back home. She forced her attention back to the others. ‘I was thinking of going on an adventure,’ she said, trying to ignore how sharply Hal looked at her, the way that Cecily had to put a mollifying hand on his arm. 

‘How about,’ suggested Cece, a bright smile on her face, ‘you come shopping with me? Have you ever been on a motorbike?’

‘Ce, I don’t think –’

‘No… I mean, yes, and no, I’ve never been on a motorbike,’ said Luce quickly, the words barely tumbling out of her mouth before the next ones fell out too.

Cece chuckled slightly as she set down plates for herself and Hal. ‘Well that’s settled then,’ she said, as if that really did mean the end of the conversation, the Shelbys be damned. ‘I think you’ll love it,’ she said in little more than a whisper, leaning forwards conspiringly.

Luce chuckled as she picked up her knife and fork, really hoping that this was going to be an adventure to soothe her worries, to stop her from going completely crazy while she wondered how to cope with her brother, Sabini and the Shelbys all circling like vultures, waiting for her to make a mistake that they could use to their advantage. That might destroy people she cared about. 

***

Wilf had had enough. It wasn’t the first time he had felt like this, felt as though Sabini was merely keeping him on a leash so that he couldn’t help his sister. Sabini was playing, toying with his promise to Wilf, and Wilf refused to stand for it. He would rescue his sister, make sure that none of the gangs would try to contact her again, and then what?

And. Then. What. Those three little words kept circling his thoughts. Every time he thought his resolve was firm enough to actually go to Birmingham, to ignore the threats that might just come from Sabini, the uncertainty of what to do when Luce was back at home with her family, were the things that stopped him. Things would never go back to the way they had once been. Luce would still shift away from him ever so slightly when his tempers rose. His mother would dote on the both of them, trying to calm their emotions despite how there was no real way of stopping the fear, of stemming the heartbreak in his sister that losing Sylvain had opened up. Their father would continue to smile, despite the fissures showing that he was as terrified as the rest of them, if not more so.

Someone barked something in Italian over his shoulder and instantly Wilf tensed. He’d thought all of Sabini’s men were out dealing with the Peaky Blinder problem that was slowly infesting London.

A low chuckle made his blood turn to ice. ‘Thought you could run away like your coward of a sister?’

Wilf balled his hands at the words of Francisco Alfonsi. He tried to ignore them, but he could feel the bitterness of them burrowing under his skin. Felt the anger rattling the bars of the cage he tried to contain it in.

‘I said,’ snapped Alfonsi, but Wilf straightened before the man had the chance to fully close the distance between them. He squared up to the glorified assassin, despite feeling the gentle, warning prod of a knife at his abdomen. He could see the ice behind Alfonsi’s dark eyes this close. It was a look Wilf had seen too many times before to be much affected by.

‘What is it you want?’ spat Wilf, seeing no point in pleasantries.

A muscle twitched in Alfonsi’s upper lip. ‘I want my son back,’ he said, voice devoid of emotion. ‘The son your sister stole from me.’

‘Cinder did no such thing,’ snapped Wilf, trying to carefully keep his emotions in check, lest he gut himself for the man.

‘We shall see about that,’ Alfonsi growled, before grumbling in Italian.

The sneer on his face assured Wilf that nothing good was coming from those words.

That was all it took. All it took for Wilf to grab the man’s hand and wrenched it backwards. He barely heard the sound of the wrist snapping, of the blade clattering to the floor. Of the metaphorical ties to the gang being severed.

‘My sister,’ he growled, mouth close to Alfonsi’s ear, his grip still iron-tight on him, ‘did not kill your son. _You_ did. You poisoned him until he thought fighting was the only way to stop you. To be free of you. And he never, _never_ breathed a word to my sister.’

Alfonsi tried to speak, to grit his teeth through the pain, but it was too difficult for him. He hadn’t been prepared for all this in the same way that Wilf had. Hadn’t got used to the pain caused by someone who truly didn’t care for the consequences. For all his time in Sabini’s gang, his job had been to cause pain, not to endure it.

Instead, he settled for spitting at Wilf’s face.

But Wilf merely shot him an animalistic smile. ‘I can promise you that none of you are going to lay a hand on my sister. Not you, not Sabini and certainly not the fucking Shelbys,’ he growled, before kicking the man in the stomach and striding away from him as he curled around himself, trying to ease the pain even a little.

And just like that, Wilfred Turner turned his back on his deal with the devil, desperately hoping that he would be the one to save his sister from the world that she was suddenly once again embroiled in. That he would get to her before anyone else.

***

‘Mick, this is Thomas Shelby,’ Stanley heard May introduce, and instantly his attention was diverted from the horse. The other man gently took hold of Grace’s Secret’s reins as May continued. ‘He’s come to check up on his filly.’

‘Don’t trust his brother?’ Mick teased, and Stanley merely rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to say that Tommy didn’t trust anyone, but the thought had occurred, left an uncomfortable weight in his stomach. Not that Mick would have noticed, his attention was already on Tommy, all amusement gone from his expression. ‘Yes. I’ve heard about him.’ It still shocked Stan that someone could drop so many of their ‘h’s and still be understood.

Tommy rested a shoulder against the stable door, looking almost unimpressed by everything.

‘Mickey’s the best horseman in all of England,’ said May.

‘I’d still put money on Curly,’ noted Stanley, grinning innocently over at the other man. But it was true, he really did think Curly was the better horseman. Mick was decent but he didn’t seem to speak to the animals in the same way his old friend did. It made him long for Birmingham. 

‘He likes to waste money, I know that,’ said Tommy simply, glancing briefly at Stan. ‘According to the reports I’ve been given you’re spending two-pound a month on worming powder.’

‘What? You want a horse with worms?’ asked Mick sharply.

‘Horses get worms from the water trough,’ Tommy reminded him, his attention shifting to Stanley once more; somehow, the look seemed to soften. ‘Remember what we said about that?’

Stan felt, oddly, like he was a little kid again. Barely six years old with Arthur watching over him and Tommy as his older brother taught him about horses. They’d been simpler times, happier; he could vaguely remember Arthur sketching with them then, a slight smile on his face the entire time.

‘If you put goldfish in the troughs they eat the worm eggs,’ Stan said, idly wiping his hands down his trouser legs, trying not to dwell too much on what had come before; what had changed. He couldn’t believe that he’d almost forgotten the goldfish fact; it was one of the first things Tommy had taught him, one of the things he’d been able to excitably tell Michael when he next saw him, before everything got torn from underneath them. Then again, even if he hadn’t there was no way he was going to make the suggestion. He didn’t want to interfere; these were Mick’s stables, after all.

His brother shot him a small, private smile.

‘Goldfish?’ asked Mick disbelievingly.

Tommy merely nodded.

‘That’ll be a Gypsy thing, is it?’ asked Mick.

‘No,’ said Tommy simply, ‘it’s an accounting thing. Goldfish cost a penny each.’

‘Yeah, or you can win them at the fair,’ Mickey said, the lilt of irritation barely contained.

Stan couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he should ask Luce to come down. Take her to a fair, get her away from the threat of Sabini and his gang. While he enjoyed the relative quiet of the house, the fact that there weren’t people to constantly try reining in, he couldn’t deny that he was missing the fiery haired girl.

How long was it until her birthday?

‘If you want,’ Mick spat as he handed the reins across to Stan and sidled out of the stables, attention on May, ‘I’ll dispense with the vet altogether. Excuse me.’

‘Did you ever consider a career in diplomacy?’ asked May, causing Stanley to scoff as he began gently brushing down the filly’s flank.

Tommy smirked, cleared his throat and walked into the stable. He smiled at Stan with something close to calmness before gently stroking the horse’s muzzle. He clicked his tongue gently.

‘Hello, hello. How are you, eh? My brother been looking after you?’

‘Of course!’ Stan defended, but he could still see the teasing amusement glinting behind his brother’s eyes.

‘Goldfish? Seriously?’ May asked, looking between the two of them, trying to figure out if it was just some family joke.

‘Yep,’ said Stan, remembering the times he and Michael tried to catch them before the horses were led over.

‘You people have a lot to learn,’ noted Tommy.

May looked as though she were about to counter the comment, but Tommy spoke over her, his attention on Stan.

‘How’ve you been?’

‘Fine,’ Stan said, looking resolutely at the horse’s hoof. He’d checked and double-checked that she wasn’t footsore, that there was no way for someone to have cursed her. He had to keep reminding himself that Curly hadn’t once had a bad feeling about Grace’s Secret. His bad feeling that day probably had everything to do with Sabini’s men. With Luce’s brother.

‘Stanley,’ said Tommy, softly but firmly.

Stan heaved a breath, forced himself to look at his brother. There was a searching look behind his eyes, he really wanted the answer.

‘It’s fine,’ he said, looking back towards the horse as he eased his hands over her. ‘Just… It’s just…’

‘You miss everyone back home,’ said Tommy, voice low and back to May. Stan was almost certain she couldn’t, and wasn’t meant to, hear the tenderness, the understanding behind his voice. In fact, the tone shocked Stanley somewhat. ‘As soon as this all blows over –’

‘When’ll it blow over, Tom?’ asked Stan, a little more sharply than he had hoped for. He looked away, unable to meet his brother’s eyes.

‘After Epsom,’ he said simply.

‘I’m coming home before then,’ he said, trying to infuse the comment with as much certainty as he could.

‘We’ll see,’ was all Tommy said on the matter before he turned back to May. ‘I should be off.’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ she said, voice slightly more clipped than it normally was.

Tommy gripped Stanley’s shoulder. ‘See you soon,’ he assured him, before walking off and lighting up another cigarette as he went.

Stan watched him go, trying to figure out exactly what was going on in his brother’s head but knowing that there was no real way of untangling any of it.

***

Hal paced the length of the table. He could feel John’s eyes on him, even as Finn and Esme stood sentry at one end of the table, as Polly sat in the waiting room, smoking as if it might somehow ease her worries. Hal hadn’t wanted to leave the house, hadn’t wanted to leave Cece and Luce alone with John’s kids, cutting their little shopping adventure short, but Hills was watching out for them. It had to be OK, he needed to be here. Family meetings weren’t something he could easily ignore. Especially not now.

Tommy entered swiftly, his shoes clicking loudly on the floor. Ever the soldier, he walked with his hands behind his back and his arrival somehow stilled something inside Hal. ‘John?’

‘The coppers have lifted ten of our men in Camden Town,’ John said simply, his voice practically devoid of emotion, ‘the rest of them are on the run.’

‘Tom, they’ve taken Michael,’ noted Finn.

‘Business first,’ Tommy said, though Hal could still see the toll all of this was taking on him, however hard he was trying to keep it all together. He was probably grateful that Stan was away from either city, away from this shit storm.

‘They took Michael last night,’ snapped Polly, standing up and striding over to the table. Oddly, the room had never felt so empty. Never felt so cold. It was odd what a difference even one of them being missing could make.

‘I said business first,’ Tommy said, waving a hand at his aunt as he had done to Finn. ‘Polly,’ he snapped when she continued, hovering in the doorway, ‘business first! John?’

‘They took all our whiskey,’ said John, the first embers of anger creeping into his voice, ‘so no doubt they’ll be supping that for Christmas.’

‘They’ve impounded all our vans,’ said Hal, wanting to lessen the burden of bad news even a little, ‘put their own locks on the warehouse.’

‘The Eden Club,’ John went on, sitting far stiller than Hal had seen before, ‘and all our pubs have been raided by the coppers and handed back to Sabini and Solomons. Still don’t think the redhead had something to do with it?’ He asked the last somewhat bitterly, to fill the silence that was yawning between them.

‘The Black Country boys think it was Arthur that killed Billy,’ Hal said. Now wasn’t the time for infighting, that would come after, when they knew that their people were safe. He refused to humour the idea that Luce had anything to do with this; Tommy would never have let her stay in the shop if he had even the slightest suspicion about her. And Hal had seen her face when she saw her brother, when she realised that he was working with Sabini. Heartbreak was a difficult thing to fake; it was only with the distance of time that he recognised her reaction for what it had been: shock, and an instinctive need to protect her brother. ‘Because that’s what the coppers told them.’ He couldn’t hide the sneer behind his voice.

‘No more free passes for our whiskey boats,’ noted John, obviously as eager to leave suspicions and speculations aside for the moment as Hal was. There were more pertinent things to think about.

‘I don’t give a fuck about whiskey,’ said Polly simply, moving further into the room. ‘I don’t give a fuck about Billy Kitchen. I want my son out of prison. Now.’

‘Thomas,’ said Esme, her voice far softer than Polly’s and yet somehow more resonating, ‘I spoke to Johnny Dogs.’

‘This meeting should just be family,’ snapped Polly, and Hal cringed slightly.

‘I can help,’ noted Esme.

‘It’s family only, she is not blood, Tommy!’

‘Neither am I,’ said Hal simply, instantly catching Polly’s attention. She looked momentarily like she might argue the point, but Tommy spoke first.

‘Let her speak.’

Polly, however, refused to give in.

‘Enough, Polly,’ Tommy said, his voice raised over her questions about Michael, about her insistences of the family. Hal heard his own name thrown in for good measure, but he glanced towards John, towards Esme. ‘Esme?’

‘I spoke to Johnny Dogs. The Lees are kin,’ said Esme firmly.

‘The bloody Lees!’ cursed Polly.

‘They can give us men!’ reasoned Esme.

‘We don’t need more fucking men!’ snapped Polly. ‘It’s men that have done the damage! It – it is men fighting like cockerels that have put us here in the first place.’

‘Want me to invite Cece and Luce to the next meeting?’ Hal asked, not looking at Polly but knowing that the words had landed. He didn’t want to say them but it seemed to be enough to momentarily stem her anger.

‘Esme,’ said Tommy calmly, ‘I’ll take up their offer. We need men.’ He heaved a sigh.

But Polly was already shaking her head, stalking closer to her nephew. ‘If Michael ever gets out of prison, I am taking him away from this family. For good.’ She stepped away from him, hands raised as she moved towards Finn. ‘This life is bad. This life is all bad.’ She gripped Finn’s arm and started leading him out of the shop. ‘You did well to get Stanley out of it before all this _shit_.’ She shot Hal a look from the doorway. ‘You should get Cecily and Lucinda away from it all before it consumes them, too.’

‘Aunt Pol, what are you doing?’ Finn asked, allowing himself to be guided though.

‘Shut up and walk,’ she said brusquely.

The door slammed shut behind them. Hal resumed his pacing, rubbing a hand across stubble that he’d yet to shave. Tommy finally sank into the seat opposite John.

‘Thomas?’ asked Esme, walking towards the table. ‘Should I go and speak to Queen Mary Lee at the Black Patch?’

She cast a look towards John when Tommy didn’t answer immediately.

‘Yes,’ Tommy said, moving his clasped hands away from his mouth to let the simple word escape.

‘She can give us soldiers for a few nights,’ Esme continued.

‘Mm, good.’ Tommy’s voice was little more than a guttural growl.

‘John, go and bring up the car,’ said Esme softly.

A look passed between them, one that Hal couldn’t properly decipher, before John took up his hat and stood. ‘Hal, you coming for yours?’

Hal glanced between the three of them for a moment before nodding. The sooner he could make sure that the others were all right, that Campbell – or Sabini, for that matter – hadn’t decided to extend his reach, the better. He clapped Tommy briefly on the shoulder as he left, for once feeling the uncertain tension rising in the space between him and John.

The cool air of outside was something of a relief. It was only then that Hal realised just how stifling the family meeting had been this time. Usually, even in the darkest of times, there was a kinship there that made things that little bit easier to bear. But this time there had been none of that. They were pulled too tightly, close to fraying at the edges. Their numbers were smaller than normal. No Arthur, no Ada, it felt like something of a gaping wound.

‘Why don’t you think the redhead did it?’ asked John as they started down the street, towards the cars. He was already getting a match out of a box, biting the tip off before chewing the rest; not once did he look towards Hal, his attention too focused on the street.

‘You really think Luce has a malicious bone in her body?’ Hal asked, a slight scoff behind his voice. ‘Do you think Stanley would’ve befriended her if she did?’

‘Anyone can betray anyone,’ noted John in a low voice.

‘You don’t really believe that, Johnny,’ Hal said softly. ‘I know you don’t.’ He tried not to think about the way Polly had uttered those words to him when he cried after what his father had done; the first time that she’d caught sight of a bruise that couldn’t have come from childish games. He tried not to think about how he’d repeated them like a mantra afterwards, trying to assure himself that it wasn’t something he’d done. That his father was simply the kind of man who would betray expected trust in a heartbeat.

John heaved a sigh. ‘But you do,’ he reasoned, finally looking towards Hal. ‘But not with the kid?’ There was genuine curiosity behind his voice; he actually cared about the answer. He always did when it came to hearing out his best friend.

Hal shook his head, buried his hands deeply in his pockets. ‘I don’t,’ he admitted. ‘Just like I didn’t with your rabble.’

A scoff assured him that a little of the tension had dissipated between them. But Hal couldn’t help wonder _why_ he didn’t think Luce had helped with this. John had a point, it was more than possible that she had. She could have been feeding Tommy lies, could have been siphoning information back off to Sabini.

But Hal had sat in on one of those meetings. He’d seen the fire behind her eyes whenever she spat Sabini’s name. She hated the man, blamed him for something that she still hadn’t been willing to share with them.

Hal knew better than most how easy it was for some to put up that mask of goodness, to seem like they were the model of a kind person to everyone on the outside of their little world. And he didn’t get that feeling of unease from Luce.

Still, he was determined to keep an eye out, to make sure that there wasn’t another snake in his home if he could help it. Because this time he wasn’t vulnerable himself. This time, he could do something about the poison to stop it from ruining everything. He just really hoped that it wouldn’t come to that; that he hadn’t left the problem at home with Cece while he was off trying to clean up the mess that had been caused by an expansion south.

***

Luce watched as Polly paced, tracking the woman’s path as if that might somehow help her figure out what to say, what she could do to help the anguish that was bubbling up inside of her. She didn’t really think that the woman wanted her there, and yet she hadn’t pushed her away either. Truth be told Luce wasn’t sure she wanted to be there either, but she was doing this for Polly. For Ada, because the woman couldn’t be there, Karl had needed her and she’d needed to stay as far away from all of this as possible. Partly, she was doing this for the small chance that perhaps it might quell Michael’s desire to get too involved with the family business. She knew that it wouldn’t end well for anyone, him getting involved, but –

A door clanked. Luce’s attention skimmed the front of the large building, but no door actually opened. At least, not immediately. The smaller door to the right was pulled open to reveal Michael not a moment later.

Her attention skimmed over his face. A bruise clung to the skin under his right eye; his nose could well have been broken from all the scrapes around it. His shirt showed the brunt of the _interrogation_ too. But it was the look in his eyes that truly made her stomach churn. His gaze was resolutely on his mother, judgement easily noticeable behind the look as he put a cigarette in his mouth. But there was something else there as well; some haunted look that she knew he’d never mention aloud. 

Luce glanced briefly at Polly, shifted to give her hand a gentle squeeze.

Michael exhaled deeply before walking over to them. His attention flickered to her for a moment before it turned sharply to his mother.

Luce let go of Polly’s hand, took a slight step away from them. She glanced back at the car, wondering if she shouldn’t head back there. But still she couldn’t.

‘You need cream on them cuts or they’ll go bad,’ noted Polly.

‘The screws told me why I’ve been freed,’ Michael said simply. ‘They told me what you did.’ Silence stretched. Luce wondered if she couldn’t make a tactful getaway now. Perhaps now was her chance to leave them all behind; to try outrunning these new ghosts threatening to overwhelm her. ‘They thought it was funny. Maybe it is.’

Luce turned on him then. Polly hadn’t said exactly what had happened but Luce had been around enough people to realise what went on. What people like Major Campbell required to do anything for another person. She recognised the kind of man he was from the bitterness she had heard Hal use when he spat the man’s name. When Ada had asked her to go along with her aunt. Bile rose up her throat.

She opened her mouth to say something, but Polly rested a pacifying hand on her arm as Michael walked away from the both of them. ‘Leave him, Lucinda,’ she said softly. ‘He’s a boy. He’ll never understand the sacrifices women have to make. But it was worth it. I’d do it again if it kept my boy safe.’

There was such certainty behind her voice that Luce found it impossible to argue, and yet she still wanted to. Still wanted to remind her that it wasn’t fair. She had heard some of the things her mother’s friends said; the suffragette movement hadn’t been forgotten, even following the War.

And yet she couldn’t say anything. She made a mental note to make sure Michael realised his judgement was unnecessary and bitter, before nodding ever so slightly.

Polly’s hand slipped from her arm and they wandered towards the car in silence, both lost in their own worlds.

***

‘What changed your mind, Tom?’

Stanley knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, and yet he found that the question wouldn’t remain unvoiced. He needed to know what it was that had altered his brother’s thoughts on everything. Needed to know why they were sitting in the car in awkward silence travelling back from May’s house – estate? – to Small Heath. And he didn’t think that it had anything to do with the new tensions he’d seen rising between the two older adults.

Not that Stan was complaining, far from it in fact. He was thrilled with the prospect of going home. But there was no settling the knot of tension in his chest. No ignoring the fact he was terrified everything was about to crash down around them.

‘It wasn’t working out, having you down here with fucking Southerners,’ said Tommy, not taking his eyes off the road. Stan saw that his hands gripped the wheel a little tighter. Saw a little of the tension edging into his brother’s muscles. ‘You need to be with family.’

‘What’s happened?’ Stan could barely keep the concern out of his voice.

The barest flicker of a smile flashed across his brother’s lips. He glanced briefly at Stanley and there was an affection there that made Stan long for the days when they spent most of their free time in the stables. When they didn’t have to worry about the likes of Sabini and his ilk causing them trouble. Sure, there had been gang problems before the War, but they were suddenly far more pronounced.

‘Turns out nowhere’s safe,’ Tommy admitted in a rare show of honesty. Stanley knew that it was honesty purely because of the undertone of pain behind his voice. Thomas Shelby was not used to being wrong.

Stanley’s insides squirmed. ‘What happened?’ he repeated.

‘Luce took herself off to live with Hal and Cecily,’ he started, and a little of the tension escaped Stanley as he exhaled. ‘Arthur and Michael were arrested.’

‘What?!’ asked Stanley, all his ease evaporating in an instant.

‘Michael’s home now, and Arthur will be soon.’

‘Soon?’ Stanley’s voice was little more than a terrified whisper.

Tommy reached over and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. ‘You just focus on the fact that we’ll be at Epsom. Then, when all this is done, we’re going to get the business more legitimate than ever before. You’ll see, Stan. You’ll see.’

Stan scoffed, but there was no humour behind the sound. It was more a simple exhaling of breath. How many times had he wanted to believe those words? How many times had he repeated them to himself while with May like some kind of mantra? Still, he couldn’t find the truth behind them. He just hoped that this time he’d be proved wrong. This time, Tommy’s promise would ring true.

Tommy had dropped Stan off at the yard so he could say hello to Charlie and Curly. He was grateful, there was no denying that, but he said his goodbyes quickly. Now, walking to Hal’s house, he found that he was more nervous than he probably should have been. It was just Luce. Just his best friend that he was hoping to see. So why did his hands feel slick with sweat as he stuffed them in his pockets? Why was he terrified that he might see the toll everything was having on her, even if she smiled and rambled about all the adventures he hoped Cece had taken her on?

Stan shook his head to clear the thoughts. A truck rattled passed him. A man jeered out the window before he realised who he was cursing at; apology swiftly followed, but Stanley payed it very little attention. He just kept walking, his destination in sight. Tommy knew that he’d do this and hadn’t warned him against it, which meant things weren’t too bad. Or at least, that’s what Stanley kept telling himself in an attempt to calm his thundering heart.

Hal’s house, while nondescript and very similar to the houses that sat on either side of it, was familiar to Stan. On more than one occasion his brothers had brought him here to collect Hal while on their way to the yard. He probably could have made the journey with his eyes closed – and the temptation did settle at the back of his thoughts, but he dare not try it alone.

‘I win!’ Cece’s singsong voice snapped Stan’s attention away from the door and towards the pavement just under the window. She was crouching in front of her bike, dirt smeared down her cheek, a bright smile on her face as she stood.

From inside the open window, Stanley heard the ever familiar low chuckle of Hal. It was an easy going sound that still startled him somewhat. Hal had seen more bad than most and still that laugh remained.

‘I bet Henry you’d be here before three,’ she said, wiping her hands on a dirty cloth before pulling him in for a greeting hug. Stan relaxed into it; it felt as though he were truly home. ‘He thought Tommy would have you discussing horses –’

‘Stanley!’

Luce’s voice was like a jolt of electricity through Stan. He pulled away from Cece and spotted the ever familiar fiery red hair a moment before he felt someone collide with him.

Despite the wind being knocked out of him, Stan was able to chuckle as he wrapped his arms around her. ‘Didn’t think _I_ was running away, did you?’

‘Not without me,’ she said, and he could feel her voice vibrating against his chest.

Stan quickly pressed a kiss to the top of her head before pulling away, glancing towards Cece who was already waiting in the doorway.

‘You two want tea or you heading off for an adventure?’

Oddly, Stan felt a blush rushing up his cheeks.

‘Tea is good,’ said Luce, quickly looping her arm through his and pulling him towards the doorway of the house that had been her most recent home.

A little of the tense knot that had settled in his chest loosened at the familiar gesture. Surely things couldn’t be as bad as his imagination would have him believe if Luce was acting like this?

***

‘Remind me again,’ said Michael with a scowl furrowing his brow as he looked between Hal preparing the space and Luce as she watched on with mild curiosity, ‘why we’re doing this.’

‘Because you can’t keep getting into bar fights, _Mikey_ ,’ said Hal, a note of bitterness behind his voice that had Luce smothering a chuckle. But the look softened slightly when he was actually looking at the young man. ‘And while you did good, Tommy wants to make sure if anything like the other day happens again you’re all prepared.’

‘You think more of that could happen?’ asked Stan, a hint of fear behind his voice.

Luce patted him gently on the shoulder but kept her attention on Hal. She didn’t doubt that all of this was going to get worse before it got any better, she just didn’t understand why the three of them had to be trained for it together. ‘And Charlie’s yard is the backdrop for all this instead of say, a boxing club?’

Hal shot her a rueful smile.

‘Because of me,’ she murmured, letting her hand fall from Stanley’s shoulder.

‘Hey, it’s probably nicer to learn this outside,’ said Stan quickly, but Luce was already shaking her head, started to plait her hair so that it was more out of the way.

‘Why isn’t Cecily teaching Luce?’ asked Michael, an undertone of something that caused Luce to stiffen slightly. She still hadn’t given her a piece of his mind after his treatment of Polly. The only thing that had stayed her tongue was the fact that he’d been through an ordeal all because of who his family was. She knew better than some how that could affect a person.

It took all her willpower not to impress those views on him right then.

‘Because,’ said Hal patiently, ‘do you really think they’d send women?’

The threat of the comment hung in the air between them. Luce tried not to think of the implications, tried not to think about the fact that Sabini had very few women working for him - if any at all for that matter. She tried, desperately, not to think about the fact she might be using some of what Hal was about to teach them to fight off her own brother. The idea sat heavily in her chest, made it so she feared it would be difficult to breathe.

Not that she was completely helpless. Her mother had taught her some jujitsu she’d learnt off a Suffragette – the woman’s name escaped Luce, but she knew she’d been Welsh. Her mother, however, had taught the same moves to Wilf, told them both how to look out for themselves. It had been good to learn but there had been no preparing either of them for what was to come next. A War; zeppelins; gangs with razors and guns.

‘At least here it’s controlled,’ Hal continued, looking pointedly at Michael who was folding up his sleeves. ‘You first.’ He crouched ever so slightly, made a baiting hand gesture.

Michael lunged, but Hal was quicker. He stepped aside, batted Michael’s flying fist away. His elbow missed the back of Michael's neck by centimetres as the younger man stumbled away from him, momentum stopped only by Hal’s free hand clutching at the back of his waistcoat.

‘Rule one: _think_ ,’ Hal said, letting go and allowing Michael to stumble away, to right himself and hide the red anger flooding his cheeks. ‘S’all well and good just going for it but if your attacker is used to this kind of thing, you’re never gonna get a decent advantage.

‘You.’ Hal turned his attention to Luce, who hadn’t even finished her plait.

Not that it mattered. He threw a punch and instinct drove Luce to the other side. She batted the inside of his elbow away, but missed his other hand. He rested it on her shoulder, a reminder of how simple it had been. Without thinking she knocked that hand away as well. She ducked under the arm, outside of his embrace, and gently put her fist to the bottom of his ribs.

‘What the _fuck_?’ asked Michael as Hal pulled away gently.

The movements had been controlled, the whole situation had no fear behind it, and yet somehow Luce found herself panting slightly. She could feel her heart thundering a horrible tattoo against her ribs and she looked decidedly away from any of them.

‘I was raised in London,’ she said, slowly raising her gaze to meet Michael’s, to throw the full force of challenge at him. While he’d been getting bored in a little village she’d been taking every adventure she could get her hands on. An unfair thought, but one she couldn’t easily dismiss. ‘It’s not exactly all silver spoons and curtseying to the King.’

‘Moving on,’ said Hal, stepping between the two of them, breaking the fizzing air and turning his attention to Stanley. ‘Show us what you’ve got, Shelby.’

Stan let out a nervous chuckle and instantly Luce’s attention was on him. Of all of them, people would assume he could fight. They’d assume that the natural Shelby instinct for violence was inside of him as well. And maybe it was, but Luce had never seen hide nor hair of it for as long as she’d known him.

‘You can do it,’ she said softly, and when she glanced to Michael in preparation to shut down whatever teasing comment he might make, she faltered. A slight crease had appeared between his brows. However little he could remember of his childhood in Birmingham, he could remember the sweet boy she assumed Stan had always been. The boy who had spent time in the stables with him – from what Stanley himself had said on the matter.

The look disappeared almost as soon as he caught her looking. But it didn’t matter, is was a look that she wouldn’t soon forget.

‘Do I have to?’ asked Stanley, a slight whine behind his voice. Right now, he didn’t look like the oldest of the three of them. He looked like he could have been the same age as Finn. His blue eyes wide as he glanced towards Hal.

Hal patted him gently on the shoulder. ‘Buddy, it’s for the best, trust me.’ There was such weight behind his words, a shared past, that Luce kept her mouth shut instead of offering up her own assurances.

Stan looked searchingly into his face for a moment before he heaved a deep sigh and nodded begrudgingly. Luce just really hoped that whatever he learnt today, Stanley Shelby would never have to use. She made a promise to herself that somehow, she’d make sure of it.

***

The train carriage rattled, swaying Wilf with the juddering movements of the thing. Wilf hated travelling. The car had been slightly preferable to the train but there was no way he could get one, no way he could use that as a viable method to get to Birmingham. He’d contemplated a boat, but with the Gypsies in charge of the waters he had a feeling that that might just be a risk he couldn’t afford either.

So he was left with the poxy train. When he found Luce, when he saved her, he promised himself that they would find another way to return home. Knowing she was safe would ease some of his concerns, would help soothe the beast that raged inside of him.

He had no idea how he was going to fight the Shelbys. No idea how he was going to pry her from their clutches even if she didn’t realise that they were keeping her there. She’d always been a kind-hearted girl, had tried to see the best in everyone no matter what. Wilf hated to think it, but he was pretty much saving her from herself.

The train bumped over something. The carriage bounced and Wilf cursed under his breath, trying not to disconcert the family in the seats on the other side of the aisle. They had no idea what was going on with him, all lost in their own little happy bubble.

He’d have that again soon. He’d have his parents smiling and truly happy for the first time since the War had started.

He just had to save Cinder first and make sure that Sabini’s gang didn’t try anything for the stunt that he’d pulled with Alfonsi. It was something that he knew he could do, though. After all, he’d survived the War; survived a fate he’d rather not think about. He could more than readily survive the Peaky Blinders and Sabini, there was no room for doubt in his mind about that.


	6. Chapter Six: Derby Day Decisions

Hal was the first to spot Tommy. He marched across the street smoking, heading straight for them. He nudged his best friend in the ribs from his place on one side of the truck. Once again, Hal wouldn’t be travelling with the others. He was to be taking Stan and Luce, who were still getting things ready with Cece. The duo had barely spent a moment apart since Stanley had returned. Cece thought it was adorable, and Hal got the distinct impression she would fight anyone who tried to separate the two best friends ever again.

‘You’re late,’ said John as way of greeting.

‘I had business,’ said Tommy simply.

Arthur was on him in an instant, hugging him. ‘The fuck d’you get me out of that?’

‘I need you today, brother,’ Tommy assured him. ‘And pulled some strings. You all right?’

‘I am now,’ Arthur said.

‘So, Arthur’s back in charge now?’ asked John, not bothering to hide the bitterness behind his voice.

‘He’s in charge of you and you’re both in charge of him,’ said Tommy, nodding to Finn. ‘Look-out duties only today.’

‘Tommy, I’m getting sick of this –’

‘Finn,’ said Tommy sharply, ‘you don’t obey orders, you don’t come. Johnny Dogs.’ He ignored the sulk that Finn was throwing completely, and Hal shared a quick smirk with John.

‘Tommy?’

‘Your boys will meet us there?’

‘The Lees will be there, Captain,’ Johnny assured him.

‘“Captain?”’ asked Tommy, almost uncertainly.

‘Aye, we promoted you,’ Johnny Dogs told him, earning a couple of chuckles. ‘Well, the boys decided you’re no longer like a Sergeant Major. Fucking those rich women and using those fancy words.’ Tommy cleared his throat; Hal was instantly on edge, he could see that the Shelbys were in a similar state of uncertainty. Was the joke funny or some underlying Lee dig despite how Esme and John were married? Despite how it was only Johnny Dogs actually voicing it? ‘I’d say you’re more like a captain these days.’

‘Fine, well, I’ll take it as a compliment,’ said Tommy, watching the ash of his cigarette falling to the floor. ‘Just don’t bloody shoot me. Hal?’

Hal nodded, shifted his cap. ‘I’ll keep an eye on them,’ he vowed, patting John on the shoulder before heading back home, knowing that he had to make sure that the others were all right. Part of him had assumed that Tommy wouldn’t let them near the racetracks, that there was too much happening for him to feel comfortable with that. But Billy Kimber had brought the fight to them before, and he wasn’t going to let someone else try pulling that shit with them again.

‘Let’s go to the Derby, boys.’ Tommy's voice had an undertone of mild jubilation behind it; something to rally the troops. 

‘Right then!’ called Arthur. ‘Load ‘em up.’ 

Part of Hal wanted to go with the others, he wanted to help with Sabini's men. But he knew Stanley and Luce needed to be protected, knew there was no way of keeping them away from it fully. He just hoped her brother wouldn't be one of Sabini's men this time; and if he was that he didn’t have to face off against one of them properly. But he had an awful feeling that he might just be, and that was something he had no way of protecting Luce against no matter his best intentions. 

***

Luce hovered near the horse, watched as Stan went about checking her over with the two men that May had brought. She tried not to think about the crowds of people that were close. The liveliness of the whole thing that she was missing out on just to make sure Stan wasn't alone; because of her own mild fear of how close at hand Sabini and his men were. With how close Wilf might be. She’d wanted nothing more than to get lost in the crowd, in the excitement of it all, but for once there were other things on her mind to stay that particular desire.

_ Why did I agree to this again _ ?

If she was being honest the only reason was Stan. It didn’t matter that Tommy thought she needed to be there, that she was safer closer to them, with Hal a constant sentry. She told herself she was there for Stan, but deep down she knew that that wasn’t the only reason.

In part, she was there for Wilf. If she could just speak to him, if she could –

‘Do you ride?’ May’s question was light, her attention still on Grace’s Secret, and yet it completely derailed any train of thought Luce might have been trying to follow.

‘I, um, yeah, a little.’

‘Tom,’ said Stanley, and once again Luce found herself distracted. Tommy was walking towards them, a cigarette already hanging out of his mouth.

‘She threw a shoe coming out of the box,’ explained May, though there was a tightness in her voice that perplexed Luce ever so slightly. It caught her curiosity and there was no letting go of it.

Tommy moved to the horse, and Luce was reminded of how he and Stanley had one been so close; she heard the longing for that old relationship in Stan’s voice whenever he praised his brother. Tommy seemed to be as caring as Stan towards the animal, stroking her soothingly, cooing softly. A far cry from the man with blood on his face, much closer to the man who had come into the Garrison through the pouring rain in need Grace's company. 

_ Even monsters have a heart somewhere. _

‘She looks in fine shape,’ he noted, before moving to stroke her muzzle. Not once, that Luce noticed, did his attention stray from the horse. Not to check that Hal was still hovering nearby, not to make sure that his brother was all right, not to make sure that Luce herself hadn't run off. He was, oddly given the situation, perfectly at ease. ‘Hello, hello, hello,’ he cooed. Only when he was done soothing the animal did he look to Stanley, who had moved to stand between May and Luce. ‘Should I be worried?’

Stan shook his head but Luce could see the tension in his shoulders. He was worried about what else might happen. The threat that was being presented with everything else. She gave his hand a squeeze, hoped to assure him the horse was his concern, everything else was someone else's remit.

‘You should not,’ May assured Tommy, watching as he moved to stand on her other side; her arms still tightly crossed. ‘Go and drink. Enjoy the day. I’ll come and find you when the race is done. Or these two will.’ She tipped her head slightly towards Luce and Stanley, but Stan’s eyes were still on the horse. He worried his lip between his teeth.

‘Hey,’ said Luce softly, nudging his shoulder gently. ‘She’s had some of the best people working with her. Throwing a shoe’s nothing.’

Stan scoffed ever so slightly. ‘You have no idea what that means, do you?’

Luce shrugged but the comment had done what it needed to. A little of his worry seemed to ebb away. Not completely, but he appeared less smothered by it.

'I'm guessing you don't -'

'No, no,' said Luce in earnest, 'what does it mean?'

A small smile curled Stan's lips and he started to explain, getting lost in other little facts that she thought had very little to do with a thrown shoe. But she didn't mind. She listened, nodding and making an occasional noise to prove she was listening. He only broke stride to quickly wave goodbye to a departing Tommy, who's stern look softened ever so slightly. 

'You two don't have to stay,' said May when Stanley paused for breath. ‘You could go –’

‘Is that such a good idea?’ Hal spoke for the first time since they’d arrived. There was an almost nervous edge to his voice that Luce didn’t like. He glanced at them apologetically before looking towards May. ‘Don’t you need them here?’

May was shaking her head before the question had even finished. ‘Enjoy it,’ she said, turning to them and nodding towards the doorway they’d entered through. ‘Nothing quite like a day at the races.’

Stan glanced worriedly over his shoulder, but Luce knew she was right.

Anyway, if Sabini was there nowhere was really safe. He’d have to have at least a couple of men in the enclosure; maybe there were already men waiting for the order to do something about them.

Perhaps they were, in fact, safer surrounded by people. Hidden in a crowd.

‘She’s got a point,’ Luce agreed, beaming as she took hold of Stan’s hand, as she looked towards Hal, trying to infuse her smile with as much sweet innocence as she could. ‘Tommy won’t even know we were gone.’

‘He will,’ said Hal softly, but she could see the flicker of amusement behind his eyes. He hated being their jailor – or at least hers – more than he obviously cared to admit. He heaved a sigh, shifted his cap from his pocket to his head. ‘Come on then.’

‘Thank you!’ she said, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet before pulling an almost reluctant Stanley with her. She knew he wanted to keep an eye on the horse, but with the start of the race looming and May’s team already milling around the enclosure there was very little he could do. And she was determined to help him make the most of it.

***

Epsom was filled with people trying to make a day of it. People eager to get lost in the crowd, in the atmosphere of excitement that was being drummed up. Oddly, Wilf couldn’t help but wonder how easy a picking ground a place like this would be for pickpockets. No one really paying attention to themselves, unless to check that their outfits were perfect. Too many people were jostling together to notice a hand swiping money or whatnot.

Everyone was too focused on their own little bubble of self-importance. Other than him, of course. His attention roamed the crowd, looking for the familiar red hair of his sister. Even in a crowd that would stand out; not just her excitement, her eagerness to be in the midst of it all. It was like a homing beacon to him, something to latch onto.

In fact, Luce was easier to spot than he had expected and the realisation brought a swell of anger with it. Who was stupid enough to let her come here? Why wasn’t she safe in Birmingham, away from the threat of Sabini? He’d only come to Epsom because it was a smaller place to look through; the size of Birmingham had initially overwhelmed him even though he had an idea of where she might be. It was a risk, one that he’d been glad to take as uncertainty gnawed away at him. But she was there, arm looped through that of a taller boy, her attention skimming the crowd and a bright smile on her face. She looked happier than she ever had after he’d come back from the War.

After everything had changed.

She pointed excitedly towards something, unlatched her arm and slipped through the crowd. Despite his height, the boy lost her, a sea of people separated them in an instant.

Wilf didn’t think, he just acted. He was broader than the boy she’d been with, less afraid of shouldering people aside physically to reach his sister. She’d been bewitched, that much he was certain of since she still hadn’t come home, even after having seen him. Gypsy magic was compelling her to stay, keeping her from the people that loved her most.

She surged forwards with the crowd, glanced briefly over her shoulder for the boy, but Wilf caught her arm.

‘Hey!’ she snapped, trying to wrench herself free. But her movements froze when she saw him, as he started to drag her through the crowd. ‘Wilf?’

‘Come on,’ he said gruffly, not daring to look back at her just yet, not quite believing that the infamous Thomas Shelby had been so naïve to think that Epson was safe.

‘Wilfred, let go,’ she said, trying to pry his fingers off her. People were beginning to leave a bubble of space around them. It would make them easier to spot, meant that the Shelbys could descend on them any moment.

‘My sister,’ he said, pulling her closer, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders and locking her in place at his side. ‘Thought she could cope.’ He heard some people murmuring their understanding, cooing softly in apology as they bought the simple lie.

Beside him, Cinder stilled, frozen by the words.

‘How dare you?’ she hissed in a low voice.

_ It’s the Gypsy magic _ , he reminded himself forcefully, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

‘What happened, Wilf?’ she asked, this time her voice was soft, he could hear the pain behind it, the sorrow.

‘Nothing,’ he said, looking down at her. She looked so small, even though she was taller than the last time he’d seen her. Her eyes were wide, skimming his face as if trying to read everything there. Every unsaid thing. ‘Just, _please_ , come with me.’

He could see the protest bubbling up on her lips. He thought he could hear people calling for her, but Luce was a common enough name.

And yet, she didn’t move away from him. Didn’t run into their arms. She stayed with him, with her brother, and that eased his worries enough for him to manoeuvre them out of the crowd, towards somewhere that they could finally talk.

***

Stan’s heart beat a frantic tattoo against his chest. Luce had let go of him for a second in the crowd, a second to get a better look at the weird statuette that had caught her eye. And then she was gone. Lost in the sea of people, some of whom had to be working for Sabini. Who had to know that she was linked to Tommy because they’d seen her at the horse auction.

Because her brother was one of them.

_ Shit _ .

‘Stanley!’ Hal’s voice was sharp, his hands placed on Stan’s shoulders grounded him and forced his attention away from the rolling crowds. The world was swimming and it took all his willpower to focus on the man in front of him.

‘We have to find her. We –’

‘Stanley, breathe,’ instructed Hal, his fingers gripping tightly. ‘We’ll find her, but not if you black out on me.’

Despite everything, Stan scoffed. It was an odd image, him fainting in the middle of the crowd. The thought forced him to do what Hal had said. He sucked in a short breath before releasing it slowly; the kind of breathing that Tommy had always used when trying to calm horses for some reason. All the while, Hal watched him; there was a nervous energy about him though and Stan knew that as soon as he was calm the other man would be off. He was as determined to make sure Luce was safe as Stan was himself.

‘All right,’ said Hal, his grip loosening ever so slightly, his gaze skimming the crowd briefly. ‘Good. Now, we know Sabini should be with the owners, which means he’s got one of his fucking skivvies doing this.’

Stan’s chest tightened again. ‘You think it’s Sabini?’

Hal’s attention was back on him in a shot. ‘Gotta prepare for the worst case,’ he said solemnly. ‘But you know she can handle herself.’

Stanley nodded, but the gesture felt hollow. Could she really keep herself safe against guns? Against the kinds of people that Tommy made deals with? Who he made enemies of?

Hal gave his shoulder a hard squeeze. ‘Come on, this way.’ His hands fell away as he picked his way through the crowd, and Stanley hurried after him, eager not to get separated from anyone else.

***

Blood roared in Luce’s ears. Her brother had taken her to some little room that seemed to be reserved for god only knew what. She’d read about a place like this in an old horror book once, a place where everything ended, a place where the heroine met a fate no one could save her from. But she shook the dramatic thoughts from her mind. This wasn’t a story. Wilf wasn’t some crazed being, he was her brother. The older brother who had harboured her love for adventure, who had always been there for her.

The brother who hadn’t properly returned from the War. Who had been one of the major reasons that she’d run away.

‘Wilf,’ she said softly as he closed the door, as he stood sentry of it, blocking off her means of escape. The thought brought with it a shiver of terror. A thousand questions clamoured inside her head, but the only one she managed to voice was: ‘Why Sabini?’

Wilf scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. ‘He was the only one looking for you, Cinder. I needed someone who had the ability to –’

‘But _Sabini_?’ she whined, raking her hands through her hair, turning in a little circle. She felt like a caged animal. She wanted nothing more than to be out of there, to be away from it all. ‘Of all the people in London, you chose him.’

‘Luce –’

Lucinda wheeled away from his hand on her shoulder. She turned in time to see the hurt flash behind his eyes, to darken the two-tone eyes that she had envied her whole life. Something steeled behind his eyes as his hand fell against his leg.

‘Sabini just wanted to know what Sy told you,’ he said, an icy edge to his voice. ‘What the Gypsies are trying to force you to tell them.’

She scoffed, more a simple expelling of air than bitter humour though. ‘Sy didn’t tell me anything,’ she bit out.

‘Cinder, listen to me.’ He looked at her imploringly. He took a step forwards, hands outstretched, but shrunk back after a moment, obviously thinking better of reaching out to her, of taking hold of her hands to keep her there with him. Instead, he held them up in an empty gesture, an attempt to soothe. ‘They’re going to be coming for us now. We have to get out of here, get back to Mum and Dad. We can start anew, somewhere that no one knows our names.’

Luce’s stomach flipped. She glanced around, expecting Sabini to be there. But of course he wasn’t. He had other business to attend to, business that probably involved Tommy and the Shelbys themselves.

Would anyone even realise she was missing?

A low chuckle filled the room. In an instant, Wilf was standing in front of her, protecting her from a man that she had hoped never to see again. The brief moment of seeing the doorway was all Luce should have needed. It was a gap she could have used to get away, to run back into the crowd and get lost in it all. But she couldn’t. Fear held her in place; her own and that which she could feel coming off her brother. 

He hadn’t known that the man was there.

‘I wondered when we’d meet,’ Alfonsi sneered, his words in Italian which made Wilf falter slightly. ‘Hiding behind your brother?’ He tutted, as if disappointed.

Wilf dove forwards with a guttural growl. Francisco, however, sidestepped the movement with ease. Wilf collided with the wall, earned a sharp punch to the gut and fell to the floor, groaning.

As Luce’s attention slipped back to Francisco, her heart seemed to skip a beat. One hand was bandaged, completely useless. The barrel of a gun pointing at her face held her in place.

‘My son did a very good job of hiding you. Looks like you learnt some things from him.’

‘Sy didn’t tell me anything,’ she insisted, keeping the words in English.

Francisco raised an eyebrow. ‘Then,’ he continued in Italian, a small malicious smirk pulling at his lips, ‘how did you understand what I said?’

The barrel of the gun seemed to swim before her eyes. She fought to keep the room steady around her. Whatever preconceptions she’d had of Thomas Shelby was nothing compared to the fear she had around this man. Tommy, she now realised, had some lines that he would never cross. She doubted Francisco had the same qualms. Least of all now his son wasn’t around to hold him somewhat accountable for his actions.

‘I. Asked. A. Question,’ he said, tapping the trigger gently as if to punctuate each word.

‘Alfonsi,’ gasped Wilf, struggling to his feet.

‘Stay out of this!’ snapped Francisco, briefly looking to Wilf. There was such rage behind his eyes that Luce had no idea where it had come from. She forced herself to swallow; to breathe. ‘My son is dead because of her.’

‘What?!’ asked Luce, for a moment outrage won out against fear. But the latter returned as soon as Alfonsi was looking at her once more.

‘He did it to protect you,’ sneered the older man; his hand was beginning to waver ever so slightly as he spoke. ‘Thought if he wasn’t around no one would bother you.’

‘He – he did it because…’ Luce started to explain, remembering his last words to her, remembering the steel behind his eyes. But the words died as Alfonsi pressed the cold metal of the gun against her forehead. She felt it digging into flesh and yet refused to give him the satisfaction of her fear. While she had initially closed her eyes she forced them open slowly. She met Alfonsi’s gaze with a steady glare of her own.

‘He did it,’ insisted the man, ‘because of you. And now you’re going to tell me everything you’ve told the fucking Gypsies about us. You’re going to tell me about their business as well, as you find it so easy to sell secrets. Then, and only then, might I actually kill you.’

‘Alfonsi!’ snapped Wilf, but before he could do anything the older man had lashed out. He kicked him in the head and Wilf fell still.

Luce’s blood ran cold. Instinctively, she took a step towards her brother, but the gun was back at her face before she could do anything. A look of hysteria glinted ominously behind Alfonsi’s eyes. Eyes that were so like Sy’s and not at all at once.

‘Your brother assured us you wouldn’t need any persuasion but I don’t think we can get _reliable_ information like that,’ he said, his voice low. He reached around to grab a fistful of Luce’s hair, pulling her close. His breath tickled her cheek when he spoke. ‘But can’t do it here, wouldn’t look good.’ He forced her in front of him. She felt the cool metal of the gun at her back. ‘Try anything,’ he said in Italian, slowly unwinding his fingers from her hair, ‘and I will shoot you. Then, I will shoot your brother while you are unable to help. And still, you will come with us.’

Luce’s tongue suddenly felt as though it weighed a tonne. She didn’t think that she would be able to answer, but somehow she managed to nod. To prove that she understood.

The gun nudged her forwards, out of the little room that had suddenly become the one place she would much rather have been in.

***

Hal tried to force his expression into something of cool certainty. He tried desperately to allow the thought of finding Luce to be the only thing that filled him; if not for his own peace of mind then to calm the terror he could practically feel radiating from Stanley. The boy was lost, completely disoriented by the fact his best friend was no longer by his side and there were too many threats looming over her head for it simply to be her wandering off of her own volition. This was meant to be easy, meant to be safer for them than if they’d stayed in Birmingham.

His own heart was threatening to betray him though. He felt it beating out a worrying tattoo against his chest as his attention skimmed the crowds. Luce should have been easy to spot, and yet there was no flame of red hair, no obvious excitable energy that came from anything but the betting people. His gut twisted uncomfortably. Might they already have taken her away?

Refusing to think about that, he forced his gaze around the crowds. Forced himself to focus even as he caught at Stanley’s wrist to keep him from wandering away, from getting lost as well.

Movement to the right caught his attention, as if it had been a beacon. His head snapped that way and he spotted Luce, winding her way through the crowd. A man followed closely behind her. Even from this distance Hal recognised the arrogance of a man who thought he had the power. A man who would lash out with violence at the slightest provocation. He’d grown up with a man like that, he recognised them in an instant. Recognised the panic behind Luce’s eyes as she tried her hardest to keep her attention ahead of her while still looking for an escape.

‘Stanley,’ he said, begrudgingly moving so that his back was to the others, so that he was filling Stan’s vision; there was no need for the boy to see that, no need for him to be dragged into the horror show that this might just turn out to be. ‘Find Lizzie.’

‘But what about –?’

‘Trust me,’ he said, more force behind his voice as he put his hands on Stan’s shoulders. ‘Find Lizzie, I’ll find Lucinda.’

Stanley opened his mouth as if to argue. Hal felt his hackles rising. The longer he lost sight of Luce the more time there was for her to get properly lost. Something about his look must have shone through to Stan because he closed his mouth and nodded. He took one last frightful look around before hurrying away, pulling his own cap down over his face as if that might help. Hal wondered if this might not be the thing that brought out a side of him they’d all assumed he simply didn’t have.

He shook the thoughts clear though, spun on his heel as soon as he could, as soon as he dared take his eyes off Stanley. The boy wasn’t necessarily in trouble. His brothers would be causing enough trouble elsewhere that no one would look for him, for the boy that was meant to be in the paddock.

Guessing where Luce would be had been easy. The man wasn’t forcing her to move too fast, hopeful that they might slide under the radar of people. And her hair made it easier to spot her.

Hal didn’t wait, he was moving through the crowd as quickly as he dared, not wanting to alert the other man in case he did something rash. He moved ahead of them, his head angled away from Luce.

His mind was reeling. The man probably worked for Sabini, was probably acting under orders none of them fully understood. She certainly didn’t want to be with him though, which was oddly something of a reassurance. It meant that her hatred of the man was real. 

Carefully, he slipped the thin blade from inside his shirt sleeve, knowing that a gun would be too conspicuous even if it held a certainty he needed. The blade was a little thing he’d got off Polly, her hat pins had been inspiration. He held it carefully up the outside of his arm.

The closer he got the more his heart thundered. The more detail he could see Luce’s fear in and the more grateful he was that he’d dismissed Stanley. Seeing her like this wouldn’t do either of them good.

If she spotted him as he neared, she didn’t react. He could see literally all the fight had left her. She was walking like someone in a dream, like someone who was taking each step towards the gallows. It broke his heart but he couldn’t allow that to cloud his thoughts. There was only one course of action here. One thing that he could do without knowing the whole hand being planned by his opponent.

Only when he was level with them did Hal stumble. It was intentional and he pushed Luce so that she was out of the way as he dug the thin blade under the man’s ribs, up into his lungs. The movement dislodged the gun that the man had been holding. It clattered to the floor as blood bloomed from the small wound.

‘He’s got a gun!’ someone yelled as Hal pulled Luce close to him. He could feel her trembling as she latched onto him, as she clung to his waistcoat as if somehow it might protect her to be so close to someone.

‘I think he shot himself!’ someone else called as Hal gently guided Luce away from the gathering crowd. He didn’t look back, didn’t bother thinking about the horror that was unfolding behind them.

At least there was one distraction to help cover whatever Tommy was doing. Not that it mattered. He’d saved Luce and that was the thing that filled him as he forced her away from it all.

For once, it appeared that Stanley hadn’t listened. The boy was hovering at the edge of the crowd and actually gasped when he saw Luce hiding against Hal. His eyes widened, his jaw slackened and in an instant he seemed to shrink in on himself.

‘Stanley,’ Hal said softly, but that was all he’d needed to say. Luce let go of him and shifted to cling to her best friend instead. She buried her head against him and Stanley clung to her as if he’d never let go again. He looked up after a moment, caught Hal’s eye, and mouthed a brief thank you.

Hal merely nodded. ‘We should find the others,’ he said, wondering if the boys would be done, if they would have burnt the licences already. He couldn’t wait for this day to finally be over. ‘Come on.’

Something steeled behind Stan’s eyes as he carefully wrapped his arms around Luce and helped her further away from the crowd.

Hal glanced briefly over his shoulder, noted that no one was following them, and really hoped that this time things would be all right.

***

The journey back to Birmingham had been filled with an awkward silence that even Luce didn’t have it in her to break. She’d rested her head on Stan’s shoulder, thinking over everything that had happened, everything that had snuck up on her before she’d had time to think.

_ ‘No, Wilf,’  _ she’d said bitterly when he tried to talk to her as she got into the car. He’d grabbed her arm, tried to “save” her again even as his wounds slowly sucked the energy out of him. Only a raised hand had stopped Hal from gutting him, that much she’d been sure of. ‘ _I’m not coming home. Not with_ you _._ ’ She’d seen the words land, seen the flinch that had pulled him away from her ever so slightly. ‘ _How could you side with Sabini?’_ That was the question that had kept coming back to her even though somehow she knew that whatever deal they had made, he’d been the one to break it off.

She’d turned away and got in the car before he could say anything else, not even giving him time to explain himself. She was too tired to face any of it. Hal had put a hand to her brother’s chest but she’d seen the look of heartbreak behind his eyes. Still, she realised that he finally understood, and this time he was letting her go.

Still, the memory of it all was too much. Even back home, back where she was surrounded by people who she saw as her family of sorts now, the thoughts hadn’t died. Every corner might have hidden another of Sabini’s men. Might have hidden her brother because he’d changed his mind.

‘Luce?’

Michael’s voice was oddly soft, but as Luce pulled herself from her thoughts she noticed the hard look behind his eyes, knew that the tone of his voice had been harsher than her distraction allowed her to realise. She shook her head clear, tried to ground herself in the moment.

‘Didn’t think you’d still be here,’ she said honestly.

‘Thought I’d run away?’

She shook her head, too tired to rise to the dig. ‘Thought you’d’ve gone home to sleep in a proper bed.’

He quirked an eyebrow at her but before she could say anything more the doors pushed open. Tommy strode in, his attention skimming questioningly to his cousin before he looked to her. His eyes raked over her, a man trying to see if there was any injury on her. It was a look her father had given her, and her brother, when they were younger.

The look stung and she looked away from him in an instant.

‘Luce, office. Michael, wait here,’ he said simply.

Michael slumped in his chair ever so slightly; the momentary dismissal had hurt more than he wanted to admit to.

Only once she was inside did she carefully close the doors. She didn’t care if Michael listened, if he did anything to try and figure out what was going on. All she cared about was the fact that she’d tried. She’d made her attempt to keep this private.

Why Tommy was the one she wanted this conversation with, she didn’t know. But it had felt like the right thing to do. Felt like the only course of action instead of simply disappearing again. She was beginning to think that that didn’t really work, that somehow there would always be someone who could find her no matter how far she tried to run.

‘Drink?’ he offered.

She shook her head, got out her box of matches and lit one. The motion of it still had an odd kind of comfort. For once, she wondered what it would be like to actually smoke. To fill her lungs deliberately with the stuff that she’d only inhaled due to proximity with others.

‘Suit yourself,’ he said simply, but she noticed that he didn’t drink either. He didn’t sit, merely stood by the drinks watching her, letting her take the time to properly find her voice.

She looked at the flame, shook it out and carefully threw the match in the bin. Anything not to look at him, not to try reading the emotions that she knew she wouldn’t spot.

She knew that she was stalling, and yet she couldn’t help it.

‘I can’t stay here,’ she said after a moment.

‘I agree.’

She looked up at him sharply. There was no emotion behind his voice and yet when she looked to him she could have sworn that there was a look of something behind his eyes. Something that she’d only ever seen him shoot towards his own brothers. A tenderness, a need to protect. But he shuttered himself off from it again swiftly, and she half wondered if she hadn’t imagined it. Seen it there only because she no longer thought it was a look her own brother would cast her way.

‘You should adventure,’ he said, not taking his eyes off her. ‘Explore. Learn a little about new places.’

She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Bring you back more information?’

‘If you wanted to,’ he said, slowly getting out a cigarette. ‘You should get out of the country until all this blows over; not just a little detour like last time. Actually get away.’

‘And if it doesn’t all blow over?’ Luce desperately needed answers, needed someone to tell her that everything was going to be all right. She knew that Thomas Shelby wasn’t the kind of person to offer any of that lightly, but right now she only had him. She couldn’t ask Stan because he was still a nervous wreck; she couldn’t ask Hal because he’d be pragmatic but kind with his words. She couldn’t ask Ada because she’d tell her to stay with her, and she refused to bring this hell to her doorstep no matter how close it had all already been.

Thomas Shelby would offer her the truth as it was; even if there was a hint of his own importance behind it all.

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette. ‘Then you will get to choose where you end up. Can I suggest America?’

Despite everything she scoffed. ‘Suggest or order?’

A wry smirk quirked his lips momentarily. ‘Neither work well with you,’ he noted simply. ‘Think on it. The next big –’

‘Stan comes to? If he wants to?’

Tommy was silent for a moment. She could see that he was mulling everything over, that he was fitting it all together so that it would best benefit him.

Eventually, he nodded. ‘If he wants to. After all, you’ll both be eighteen.’

Luce’s surprise brought a spark of amusement behind his eyes that she’d never seen before. ‘Consider tickets to wherever you want to go as a birthday present.’

Luce scoffed, shook her head disbelievingly and shot him a small smile. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

He nodded ever so slightly before she turned on her heel and walked towards the doors, trying to untangle if she was excited about the prospect of America, if she was simply just keen to move on again, or if she was actually feeling empty because too much had happened. Whatever she felt though she was glad that she might be able to have Stan by her side as they tried to put it all behind them. Maybe travelling with someone else might make everything a lot easier, might be the thing that helped to bring her back when all she wanted to do was run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the last chapter of this book. For once, I haven't already written the next one but I'm hoping it won't take too long to get around to it. If it takes too long, I might start posting some of the little one shot ideas I have but we shall see. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this; I hope you've enjoyed Luce, Stan and Hal's journey so far as much as I have, and hopefully we'll see what happens next with them all soon.


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